Death Stare
by Littleforest
Summary: [Complete] Colonel John Sheppard is no stranger to nightmares, but when his nightmares begin to invade reality, it might be too much even for him. Not your average ghost story.
1. Part One

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Well, hello there! I've been doing the rounds on this website for a few years now, but this is my first Stargate Atlantis story, so first of all...welcome! I'm a little nervous about this story, and I really hope I do the characters justice - I think they're fantastic, and I've read a lot of wonderful stories about them already (check out my favourites list for all my heartfelt recommendations). This story is just my little addition to an already wonderful fandom.

It's set in season three, sometime after Common Ground but before Sunday. The timeline for this story is not really important, but there are potential spoilers for any episodes up to and including Common Ground, so be warned. Other than that, I don't want to say much more, apart from obviously I hope you like it. Enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Death Stare ~**

 **Part One**

* * *

With a determined look fixed firmly onto his face, John made his way over to his team's regular table just outside the Comissionary, one arm full of reports that he really _had_ to get done this morning or Elizabeth was going to kill him, and the other arm holding something that he happened to think was infinitely more important…

"Is that the last piece of chocolate cake?" Rodney asked as he caught up his friend, staring at John with barely concealed envy. John immediately made to sidestep him in an effort to protect the cake from Rodney, but hesitated when the movement nearly caused him to lose grip of the reports.

Moving a little more slowly, John still kept the cake carefully out of Rodney's reach whilst simultaneously trying to juggle the reports so that he didn't drop any. He didn't think Elizabeth would appreciate it if he handed in a report that he had literally walked all over…

Of course, in true McKay style, Rodney made no move to help him, even though the reports were now teetering dangerously close to falling out of his grip. In fact, John was almost at the point of having to decide which he was going to have to try and 'save' – the _last_ piece of chocolate or the stupid reports he should have finished two days ago – when thankfully the decision was made for him.

With her usual gracefulness, Teyla came to his other side and gently prised the chocolate cake out of his hand, placing it on the table in front of his usual seat, and leaving him finally free to gather up all the reports before he lost control of them completely.

John sighed in relief, and once he was settled at the table - and all the reports had also safely made it onto the table as well - he shot her a grateful look, and then scowled at McKay for good measure.

"Right, sorry," McKay said with a frown as he joined them at the table, almost as if he had only just realised that John probably could have used a little assistance from him. Which, knowing Rodney, he probably had.

"Forget it, Rodney," John said, waving the apology away. He still had his chocolate cake and the reports were all in one piece. No harm done. "It's fine."

"What's the plan for today then?" Ronan asked gruffly as he also joined them at the table.

Sometimes it amazed John how in sync his team were. They hadn't actually made a plan to meet for breakfast at seven in the morning, but yet here they all were.

Of course, John thought to himself with a sigh, as good as it was to hang out with them, it really didn't bode well for all those reports he was supposed to be writing…

"Well, Conan, some of us have very important experiments to do," Rodney told him self-importantly. Even as he spoke, he began to eye up John's chocolate cake again, and John responded by moving it even further away from his friend and shooting him another glare. Rodney seemed to shrink back a little bit, so John decided it was probably safe to turn his attention to the reports, although he did pause to take a large bite of the cake. It tasted as good as it looked. As he chewed, his mood already improving, he picked up the first report and finally set to work…

"I intend to spend some time with some of the newer recruits," Teyla offered. "Dr Weir has asked me to explain some of the finer points of the Athosian culture to them so that they can better understand what it is we are all fighting for."

"I know," John replied absently, his voice a little muffled from another rather large bite of chocolate cake. He swallowed before continuing. "It was my idea."

John kept his focus on the report he was writing, so he missed the look of surprise on the faces of his three team-mates.

"That was an excellent idea, John," Teyla told him. Then she frowned as she took in the mound of paperwork surrounding him. "Is this more evidence of your 'ideas'?"

"Hmm?" John replied, pulling his attention up. "Oh, no, these are the reports I should have finished a couple of days ago. If I don't get them done this morning, Elizabeth is going to – "

"I'm going to what, John?" came a voice from behind him.

Slowly, and with no small amount of trepidation, John turned around, but was relieved to find that even though Elizabeth _was_ right behind him, she was at least smiling.

"Nothing," he replied, turning back to his chocolate cake in an effort to avoid putting his foot any further into his mouth.

"Chocolate cake, John?" Elizabeth replied, mirth in her expression. "For breakfast?"

"Left-overs from last night," John replied with a shrug, refusing to feel ashamed of his choice. He was a grown man dammit; he could have chocolate cake for breakfast if he wanted to.

"Left-overs that Sally was supposed to be saving for me," scowled Rodney.

"She likes me better," John retorted with a smirk.

"What could you possibly have that I don't?" Rodney challenged.

"Looks, charm, a winning personality…" he listed off.

"And the world's biggest ego," Rodney shot back.

"Not with you still in the running," John retorted.

"Boys, boys," Elizabeth said before Rodney could build up a head of steam. "Save the smack talk for the chess games."

"Smack talk?" asked Ronan.

"I'll explain later, Chewie," John told him before turning his attention back to Elizabeth, a frown growing on his face. John suddenly had a weird sense of foreboding; because as much as he and his team were in sync, Elizabeth rarely joined them at mealtimes. The fact that she was here, now either meant that something had happened, or something was about to…

"Major Lorne is in the Infirmary," Elizabeth told him. Immediately, John's eyes widened in concern, but Elizabeth quickly placated him. "He's okay." Then she hesitated. "Well, he's actually quite sick, but Carson thinks he just picked up a bug of some sort during his last mission. The rest of his team seems to have come down with the same thing, but no one else is affected. Carson isn't worried, but he wants to keep them under observation for a couple of days, just in case."

"Weren't they supposed to be going on that mission to PX752-224 today?" Rodney asked. "That planet with the weird readings, the one that could be the answer to our energy problems." His expression turned hopeful. "Does this mean we get to go instead?"

"Rodney…" John growled, a little unwilling to give up a rare day off so easily.

"Actually, John," Elizabeth interrupted, looking a little bit apologetic. "I _was_ going to suggest that your team takes their place. We could put off the mission I suppose, but Zalenka has detected a storm brewing on PX752-224, and he's afraid that if we put this off any longer, we'll miss our window of opportunity. It could be weeks, even months, before we get another shot."

"But – "

She raised a hand to interrupt him. "Before you say anything, the MALP hasn't detected anything that should pose a threat to you at the moment. There should be plenty of time for your team to investigate the possible power source and return before the storm hits. And if the readings mean what we hope they mean…"

"Yeah, yeah," John replied. "Lots of energy, which, if we can harness it, will probably power the city for months, if not years…"

"Seems worth checking out," Ronon added, although John knew he was just bored and looking for a little action. John, who had seen a little too much action lately, was still quite happy to stay at home and let someone else investigate the strange energy readings that would probably end up causing more harm than good…

"That's settled then," Elizabeth said cheerfully. "You leave at 0900 hours. Get your team ready, Colonel."

John shook his head slightly, trying to shake the feeling that he'd missed something.

"Oh, and Colonel," Elizabeth continued, just as she was leaving. "Those reports had better be done by then, or I'll be sending one of the marines with your team instead."

John sighed as Rodney, Ronan and Teyla all got up from the table. He looked at the reports, then back to them.

"You guys go on ahead," he told them. "This shouldn't take long. I'll meet you in the Gateroom at 0900."

"Rather you than me, Sheppard," Ronan replied, slapping his on the back.

"Yeah," Rodney agreed. "Although maybe _you'll_ be the one late for once…"

"Not with you still in the team, McKay," John shot back without taking his eyes of the paperwork.

Rodney simply grumbled under his breath in reply as he stood up from the table, and John took that as a win at least.

Unable to put it off any longer though, John threw himself into his reports. In fact, he was so focused on what he was doing that it took him thirty minutes to notice that his friends had left him to it a while ago.

Even worse, it was another hour before he noticed that McKay had taken the rest of his cake.

* * *

In the end, John actually _was_ the last to arrive in the Gateroom, which annoyed him more than he would ever admit aloud. The good news, however, was that he'd finally finished all the reports with about twenty minutes to spare, which at least meant that Elizabeth was going to let him go on the mission. As much as he had been looking forward to a few quiet days at home, there was no way in hell that he was going to let his team go without him.

Ignoring the smug look on Rodney's face as he walked towards his team, John adjusted his tac vest slightly and nodded towards Elizabeth. She smiled knowingly at him, but didn't comment on his tardiness, and for that much he was grateful.

"The MALP's already gone," Elizabeth informed him, still smiling. "No change from the last time we sent it through, so you're good to go, Colonel. We'll check in two hours from now. Good luck."

"Don't need it," John replied with a smirk, even though everyone present knew that if any team needed good luck, it was SGA 1. In fact, John had long ago learned that if something could go wrong with them, it almost certainly would…

"Come on," Rodney said impatiently, standing back on his heels. "Let's go."

John nodded towards Rodney and his team and with a final nod and sloppy salute towards Elizabeth, he turned and made his way towards the event horizon. Then he took one more step and he was gone.

* * *

" _Medical team to the Gateroom!"_ came the report over the radio. Rodney sounded out of breath and panicked. Elizabeth felt her heart clench a little in fear, as it always did when one her teams came back late. SGA 1 had missed the two hour check-in, and Elizabeth had already given the order for teams five and six to prepare to go through and retrieve them.

They'd been ten minutes away from leaving when the call had come in.

"What's the situation, Rodney?" she asked, trying to keep calm.

" _Sheppard's down,"_ Rodney replied. _"Don't know what's hurt him, but it's bad."_

" _Please tell Dr Beckett to be ready,"_ added Teyla. _"We are coming through now."_

The shield had already been lowered, so Elizabeth made her way quickly down the stairs so that she could meet the team herself.

Teyla was the first of the team to make it through, and although she looked a little worse for wear, she didn't appear to be seriously hurt. The Athosian immediately turned back to the wormhole however, and that set Elizabeth's nerves on edge, particularly with Rodney's words still ringing in her ears.

 _Sheppard's down…_

"Where is he?" came Beckett's concerned voice. He seemed out of breath, and Elizabeth knew he'd probably run all the way from the Infirmary as soon as the call had come in.

"They are coming," Teyla told them both as they came closer. "John was unable to stand by himself, so Rodney and Ronan are carrying him. They asked that I run ahead so that I could get the gate open."

She looked a little upset with herself for leaving them behind, but Elizabeth held nothing against her. Sheppard's team were all able to handle stressful situations with an extraordinary amount ease, but they were all still human. Teyla was no exception…

"Teyla, you did – "

But the rest of Elizabeth's words were shaken from her mouth when a shout came through the Gateroom, and Rodney and Ronan finally appeared, dirty, exhausted, and holding between them her second-in-command. And John wasn't moving.

"John!"

"He's unconscious," Rodney told her, gasping a little as he struggled with John's weight. The Colonel was lax, and as she moved closer, she noticed that he was also covered in blood. A lot of blood…

"What the bloody hell happened?" demanded Carson, immediately moving towards the three of them and gesturing to his staff to get the gurney ready.

"We don't know," replied Ronan, who looked furious with himself. "We got separated."

"From what I could tell, the blood appears to be from a very bad nose-bleed," Teyla reported. "I could not find any other wounds that would explain all the…" She gestured to the blood covering John's chest.

"Aye, lass," Carson replied. "I'm sure you're right, but let's get him to the Infirmary all the same. He seems to be breathing okay on his own, but his heart's beating a little too fast for my liking."

"Go," Elizabeth said with a nod, even though she knew that none of them really needed her permission.

Carson returned her nod regardless, and gestured for Rodney and Ronan to help his staff get the Colonel onto the waiting gurney. In no time at all, John was lying down and being wheeled away, Carson already shouting orders out. Elizabeth only hesitated for the briefest of seconds before she followed.

* * *

John woke slowly, but instead of the usual sleepiness that accompanied those first few seconds of waking up, this time with the growing sense of awareness came pain. A lot of pain. In fact, it felt like there was someone hammering around in his skull, splintering his pain into agonising pieces.

It was excruciating, overwhelming, and it wasn't long before he found himself wishing for unconsciousness again and the black, pain-free oblivion it promised.

" _John…"_

John groaned, and tried to move. His body felt achy and weak though, and he knew that for the moment at least, he was going nowhere.

"Colonel? If you can hear me, it's time for you to wake up."

John groaned again, but he could feel that something was preventing him from falling unconscious again. Probably drugs, he realised. He wondered who had given them to him, then – as the pain in his spiked once more – he wondered if he cared…

"Colonel, come on lad," came a voice, firm and familiar. "Open your eyes now. Look at me."

"Carson?" John replied hoarsely. With a monumental effort, John dragged his eyes open. It was bright, but he fought against his instincts and kept them open.

"Yes, Colonel," Carson replied. "You're in the infirmary. Do you remember what happened?"

"Erm…" John thought hard, but gave up when his headache spiked again. He could see that he was lying down, but his mind wasn't really up to establishing much else about his situation. Instead, he concentrated on trying to answer the question. "Was on a mission. Not sure what happened." Then a thought hit him and his heartrate increased. "Team?"

"They're all fine," Carson replied immediately. "I told them to get some rest, but they're as bad as you sometimes. I have no doubt they'll be back here within the hour."

"Good," John replied quietly, most of the doctor's words just washing over him. His team was safe; that was all that mattered…

"They said you were separated for a time, and that when they found you your nose was bleeding and you were unconscious," Carson told him, concern prevalent in his eyes. "Do you remember what happened to you whilst you were missing?"

"No," muttered John, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. God, he didn't even remember the nose bleed, let alone what had caused it.

Carson frowned. "I couldn't find any injuries on your body or face, so I'm not sure what caused the bleeding, or what knocked you unconscious. I'm waiting on your blood results, but now that you're awake, I have a few more tests I need to run, if you don't mind."

John knew from experience that it wasn't a request, so with a bit more effort, he shook of the remnants of sleep and pulled himself up in the bed so that he was sitting up rather than lying down.

"Good," Beckett replied with a nod. Then he got to work.

* * *

The second time John woke up, it didn't take very long for him to remember where he was. He was a little concerned that he didn't remember falling asleep, but then he recalled that Carson had put something in his IV, and he realised that the Doc had probably drugged him, most likely to make sure he got some rest. Carson could be sneaky like that…

"Finally, you're awake," came a voice form his side. John groaned, his headache still splitting, but managed to open his eyes and turn his head.

"Rodney?" John replied, squinting slightly. The light felt too bright, and it wasn't helping his headache. He really wished someone would dim the lights...

He must've spoken that thought aloud, because the next thing he knew, the lights were dimmed and the pain eased off a little bit. Thanks, Rodney, he thought…

"You're welcome," Rodney replied, and when John met his gaze, he saw a frown on his face.

"What happened?" John croaked, trying to pull himself up a bit.

"Don't you remember?" Rodney replied, alarmed. "Carson said he told you…"

"I remember what Carson told me," John interrupted. "I just don't remember much about what happened."

"Oh," Rodney replied, although he didn't seem very reassured. "Well, we were attacked, obviously. Almost as soon as we arrived. They took us to a nearby village, and then once we were there, they scanned all four of us with a very Ancient-y looking device. Nothing happened with me, Teyla and Ronan, but where the scanner passed over you, it flashed. The barbarians who took us got all excited, then dragged you away."

"Where did they take me?" John asked. "What did they do?"

"No idea," Rodney replied. "They left us under guard, so it took a bit of time for us to escape. Of course, as always it was my genius idea that once again saved the day – "

"Rodney…" John warned. His headache was growing more painful by the minute as he fought to remember, and Rodney wasn't helping…

"Sorry," Rodney mumbled, then he picked up his story. "Anyway, once we escaped, we took a hostage, and Ronan made him take us to where they were keeping you. We found you in a cell, unconscious."

"What did they do to me?" John asked again, half-afraid of the answer.

"We're not sure," Rodney replied. "We didn't have much time to look around, especially when your nose started bleeding. I didn't know noses could bleed so much, and let me tell you, I've had one of two in my time…"

"Rodney…"

"Right, sorry," Rodney said. "Anyway, Ronan picked you up, and we hightailed it out of there. That's it."

"Well, that explains everything," John replied sarcastically, his headache growing to migraine levels.

He screwed his eyes shut in an effort to ride out the pain, and held his head in his hands. It made no difference though, and John suspected nothing would. God, it was agony...

"Sheppard," Rodney said, and John could tell he was panicking. "Come on, you idiot, speak to me…"

John couldn't speak though. He could barely even breathe through the pain. Something was wrong…

"Get Carson," John ground out finally.

Before Rodney could move, however, John felt a burst of agonising pain in his head that shook all other thoughts from his mind. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. He was vaguely aware that he was screaming, but he couldn't control even that. He couldn't do anything…

And then, miraculously, it began to recede. After a few tense seconds, he started to breathe again, panting slightly, as if he had just run a marathon. He could feel the sweat on his face and body, the ache in his bones, but his head was starting to feel numb.

Numbness was preferable to pain, but John knew deep down that it still wasn't good…

"Speak to me, Sheppard," Rodney said, his voice finally filtering through John's aching mind. "Are you okay? Beckett's on the way, but he's been held up by one of your idiot marines…"

"I'm fine," John replied immediately, even though he really didn't feel fine. In fact, he felt really, really odd…

There was a ringing in his ears, and when he focused, he got the impression that someone was watching him. Someone apart from Rodney. Someone who shouldn't be there…

There was a clatter to his right, and John flinched, immediately turning in that direction. Rodney jumped as well, but John got the impression that it was more because of his sudden movement than the mysterious noise.

"What was that?" John asked anyway, his voice still a little hoarse.

"What was _what?"_ Rodney shot back, glancing anxiously around the otherwise empty room. He looked a little scared now…

"That noise…"

The rest of his sentence was lost when he heard the clatter again, this time from his other side. He was about to get up and investigate when he heard a chilling voice whisper in his ear…

" _John…"_

John felt ice fill his veins, and he froze. He knew that voice. But no…that was impossible.

" _Major…"_

" _Johnny…"_

John snapped his eyes shut, but the voices kept coming. His heart was beating loudly in his chest, but the noise of his heartbeat couldn't drown them out. He knew them all…

" _Look at me, John, my boy."_ One voice told him, sweet and kind and exactly how he remembered it. " _Trust me…"_

He couldn't help it. He opened his eyes, his gaze searching the room hungrily. He knew it didn't make sense, and that he had probably gone crazy or some weird alien drug was messing with his system, but it was as if he had no choice, no control. He had to know. He had to see her…

And then, there she was.

She was standing behind Rodney, looking exactly like he remembered her, even though he hadn't seen her in thirty years. God, he'd missed her so much…

"Mom?" he whispered.

She looked sad and relieved all at once. _"Yes, John, it's me…"_

"Sheppard, what are you talking about…?"

John ignored Rodney. "I missed you, mom."

" _I missed you too, John…"_

"I'm not your mother, you idiot!" Rodney retorted loudly. The scientist tapped his comm. "Carson! Get in here! He needs your voodoo – quick! I think he's hallucinating…"

John knew he was, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It had been so long since he'd seen her.

"Mom…"

He swallowed, drinking in the sight of her. Her hair was still blond, with no trace of any grey. She was young, vibrant, and with no trace of the cancer that had eventually taken her life…

Ice filled John's veins at that thought, and he swallowed hard. He couldn't take his eyes off her, but his wasn't right. She was dead. She'd died a long time ago…

His mother must've picked up on his hesitation, his fear, because she frowned, and then closed her eyes. Then there was a flash, and she was gone, immediately replaced by another face he would never forget. John felt his heartrate increase all over again…

John swallowed. "Holland?"

" _That's right, Sir,"_ the dead soldier replied with a grin. _"Alive and well and reporting for duty."_

"Carson!" Rodney yelled. "Get in here!"

"No," John replied, shaking his head. He didn't want to confront that part of his past. He couldn't. He shook his head, and with a final sloppy salute, and another burst of bright light, Holland flashed away.

Only be replaced by Colonel Sumner.

" _You killed me, Sheppard,"_ the Colonel said.

"I'm sorry."

" _I'm not,"_ replied Sumner with a wry shake of his head. _"You did the right thing."_

John knew he should have felt relief that his hallucination was willing to forgive him, but he only felt fear and pain. He wanted to throw up, or curl up in a ball with the covers over his head, but somehow he knew that even if he closed his eyes, they would still be there. It was like one of his nightmares had swallowed him whole. He couldn't escape…

He shook his head forcefully, and the light flashed. Colonel Sumner disappeared, and this time, the faces came thick and fast; people he'd known, liked, hated.

All of them dead…

"Rodney," John begged, desperate to cling to reality. He sought his friend's face, and eventually found it. Rodney was scared, he could tell, but John didn't know how to make him feel better…

"Something's wrong," John muttered hoarsely, paling as he pulled himself up on the bed. He shook his head, but all it did was make his growing headache worse. He couldn't tear his eyes aware from the dead faces flashing in front of him, the parade of ghosts. This wasn't right. This couldn't be real…

"What?" Rodney replied anxiously, clearly picking up on John's fear. "What's wrong?"

John laughed, but his reaction was bordering on outright hysteria rather than humour. But it was either laugh or cry, and John didn't want to cry…

"Sheppard…What's wrong?"

John ran a hand through his hair. "Rodney, I…" He laughed again, and he knew he probably looked like a madman. He _felt_ like a madman. "I see dead people."

Then his eyes rolled up into his head, and he knew no more.

* * *

 **A/N –** So, Sheppard's gone crazy…or has he? Yeah, I'm not telling (not yet anyway) athough I will say that you'll get a few explanations in the next chapter. And since the next chapter has already been mostly written, I hope you'll forgive the slight cliff-hanger at the end of this one. On that note, please let me know if you're liking the story so far – I'd love to read your comments, and most of all, I'd really like to know if you want to read more! Until next time though, thanks for reading!


	2. Part Two

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hello again! Before we get to part two of this little tale, I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who reviewed after the first chapter. You were all so lovely, and it really gave me the confidence to continue with this story! This chapter is a little bit shorter than the last one, but hopefully you'll still like it! There's a lot more dialogue, and a few more answers (but not _too_ many). Anyway...enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Death Stare ~**

 **Part Two**

* * *

"I'm not crazy," John told Carson shakily, his words sounding much less confident than he'd intended. Thankfully his team had just left the Infirmary, so he knew his pride was intact at least, but John still hated the idea that he was showing weakness, even if Carson was the only person around to see it.

John glanced anxiously at the doc who, to his credit, didn't even bat an eyelid at his announcement as he continued to fiddle with John's IV. Of course, Carson had undoubtedly come across some pretty weird things during his time on Atlantis, but John knew that 'seeing dead people' would definitely take some beating…

"I know, lad," Carson replied reassuringly, and his eyes confirmed to John that he was telling the truth, at least as far as he knew it. "Your scan showed quite a bit of unusual activity going on in the right hemisphere of your brain, which is common for patients experiencing hallucinations. Having said that - and bear in mind that I'm still trying to the bottom of it - from what little I already know so far, it doesn't look to be natural causes to me. In my opinion, something has done this to you."

"Oh," John replied, refusing to look as relieved as he felt. "Good."

Well, John thought after a moment, maybe not exactly _good,_ but definitely better than being crazy...

Carson just shot him a knowing look. "It does have me a little worried though. Whatever is doing this to you appears to be spreading to other parts of your brain. And, worryingly, it doesn't appear to be letting off, as we would usually expect of someone experiencing hallucinations, particularly those that have been drug-induced. Of course, we can't be sure this _is_ being caused by drugs until your test results get back, but it hardly matters either way right now. The bottom line is -"

"It's getting worse, and we have no idea why, or how to stop it," John translated with dread.

"Aye, lad," Beckett replied tiredly, his expression betraying the depth of his worry. Then he hesitated. "So, Colonel…I understand that you still see…them?"

John glanced over to his right, where his mother – his _dead_ mother – was currently standing, and considered how to answer that question without sounding certifiably insane.

When he'd first woken up after his initial meltdown with Rodney, John had been completely mortified by the way he had reacted. That, however, had quickly transformed into fear when he'd realised that the dead people he'd been seeing were still there. They flickered in and out of his view, still accompanied by flashes of light so bright that they stung his eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make any of them go away for more than a second at a time. Even when he closed his eyes, he could still hear them taunting him. Haunting him.

When he 'wished' one of the ghosts away – which he at least _could_ do with a little concentration - another one would flash into existence and simply take their place. In the end, when he'd realised that he had a certain amount of control over exactly who appeared, John had finally settled on his mother. His head still felt as if it was being squeezed through a vice, but it had eased a little once the constant parade of ghosts had stopped. She hadn't left since, and it at least afforded John the chance to calm down without being bombarded with dozens of faces he would rather forget altogether.

"John?"

John started. Judging by the abundance of concern plastered all over Carson's face, he'd probably zoned out for an embarrassingly long time. John clenched his fists in frustration; he usually had much better control over that sort of thing, and he once again wondered exactly how much damage the aliens on PX752-224 had done to his head.

"Erm…yeah, I can still see them," John replied eventually, rubbing a hand over his face. Even though he'd only woken up an hour ago, he still felt exhausted, and the pounding in his head hadn't let up, even though his mother's presence had eased it slightly. The doc, perceptive as ever, didn't miss the gesture.

"Get some rest, Colonel," Carson said with a final pat on his shoulder. "We'll figure this out."

John shook his head, but didn't argue.

The trouble was, he wasn't so sure they would.

* * *

"So is it anyone special you're seeing, or…you know, is it just random dead people?" Ronan asked bluntly.

John stared at him, then glanced over to Teyla and Rodney, each of whom were patiently waiting for his response.

John was sat up in the hospital bed, surrounded by his team. John had tried to explain a little about what he was seeing, but the truth was, he hadn't even wanted to think about it, let alone talk about it. They'd been there for an hour now though, talking about everything and nothing, and he could tell they were reaching the end of their patience. John was mildly impressed that they'd managed to hold back their questioning about his condition until now.

Truthfully, John still wanted to dodge the question, but he knew it wasn't really an option. Carson had told him in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't be getting out of the bed for a while, not until they got to the bottom of what was happening to him at least, so there was literally nowhere for him to hide.

Also, thought to himself with a sigh, his team – no doubt in an effort to stop him going completely stir crazy – were clearly doing their best to keep him entertained and distracted from his condition, so he supposed he owed them a little bit of the truth at least.

"So?" Rodney prompted, arms folded in front of him.

"It's people I know – _knew_ ," John replied, appreciating, at least for the moment, that his friends were no longer pussy-footing around the issue. He thought about how much he should reveal, then decided he was too tired - and freaked out by the whole situation - to worry about holding things back from his best friends. He was just about to elaborate when Rodney jumped in.

"That's it?" Rodney questioned incredulously. "We've been dancing around this for hours, and that's all you're going to tell us?"

"Okay, okay," John replied, holding his hands up in surrender. He sighed, and ran a hand through his messy hair. "If you must know, it always seems to be people I literally _saw die._ I don't remember all their names because most of them died in combat situations…"

"Any of them enemies?" asked Ronan quietly. Of all of them, Ronan was the one who would truly understand the implications of what John was telling them - that some of the ghosts were probably people he had killed...

John hesitated for a moment, but decided to answer the question. "Yeah. Quite a few of them. But they don't stay long."

In fact, John thought, they only seemed to pop up when he lost concentration. Usually, if he focused, he could make sure that the worst of them stayed away. It took a lot of effort and energy - energy he couldn't really afford to lose - and his headache always seemed to spike afterwards, but it was definitely worth it.

"So, what, you make them go away?" Rodney asked. "You can control it?"

"I have an element of control over who I see, yeah," John replied carefully. It wasn't that he didn't trust his team – he trusted them with his life – but he already knew that he sounded crazy. He didn't want to make anything worse…

Rodney, of course, was not satisfied with that answer. "What does that mean?"

"At first I saw…a lot of different people," John replied, closing his eyes as the haunting memory almost overwhelmed him. "I still do, if I lose concentration. It's a bit like a video running on fast-forward. Makes me want to puke. Or pass out."

"And if you do concentrate?" Teyla asked.

"I can get a bit of control over the visions, and I can…choose who I see," John replied. "At the moment, I only see one person, but I think I could see others if I wanted to."

The fact that he _didn't_ want to remained unsaid.

"Can you get rid of them altogether?" Rodney asked.

John shook his head. "No. Tried that already. Didn't work, and it made my headache worse."

His eyes flickered over to his mother, who was standing patiently behind his team, her arms crossed, and an easy smile lighting up her face. He knew that the apparition probably meant he was going mad - no matter how many times Carson told him otherwise - but John couldn't help but be a little glad about her presence anyway. He'd missed her…

"So," Rodney replied impatiently. "Who is it? Who do you see right now?"

"That's none of your business," John replied, a little panicked. He hadn't really mentioned his family to any of the team so far, and even with his internal promise to tell them the truth, he still had no intention of bringing it up now.

"Of course it's my business, you idiot!" Rodney snapped. "It could be relevant."

"What do you mean?" John asked, dread filling his stomach.

"Well, whilst you've been doing your impression of sleeping beauty," Rodney replied, clearly annoyed. "I've been trying to actually find out what did this to you. I have no doubt that those...Neanderthals back on PX752-224 did this, but since we weren't taken to wherever you were taken, and since Elizabeth has no intention whatsoever of letting us go back, I've been left the pull the proverbial rabbit out of the hat once again." Rodney took a quick breath, and then immediately carried on with his tirade. "And to be perfectly honest, I need every little bit of help I can get, because at the moment, I've got nothing." McKay crossed his arms. "So spill. Who do you see? And are they in the room right now?"

"Yeah, she's in the room," John replied softly, nodding over to where his mother was standing. "She's over there."

Rodney groaned. "'S _he_?' It's not one of your hotties, is it? Typical Kirk…"

John shook his head. "No…"

"Just tell me, Sheppard," Rodney replied with a sigh. He sounded weary, tired – so unlike his usual excitable self – and it was that more than anything that made John answer.

"Fine," John muttered. "If you must know, it's…it's my mother."

Rodney's eyes snapped up, but John immediately looked down, unwilling to meet his gaze. Before he did however, he noticed that Teyla was looking at him with understanding and a little bit of sadness.

She hesitated. "John…"

John held his hand up. "And no, I don't want to talk about it."

"Wait, you saw your mother die?" Rodney asked, remembering Sheppard's earlier assertion that all the people he'd seen so far were people he'd specifically witnessed dying.

"Yes," John replied through gritted teeth. "And I _don't want to talk about it."_

Rodney finally seemed to absorb his words, and looked a little apologetic. John waved away his concern, but still didn't meet their gaze.

"Perhaps it is time for us to let you rest, John," Teyla suggested diplomatically, picking up on his mood. "We will do our best to visit first thing tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, and in the meantime I'll keep working on your little 'Sixth Sense' problem," Rodney said as he stood up.

"Sixth sense?" asked Teyla. Ronan also seemed a little confused by the reference, which was no surprise really considering they'd only been around Earth culture for a couple of years.

"The Sixth Sense is a movie," John explained, finally looking up. He saw no pity in their eyes, only concern, which is was grateful for. They really were the best friends a guy could hope for.

"A pretty good movie, actually," Rodney added.

"Perhaps when you are feeling better you can show us this movie, John," Teyla suggested.

"Sure," John replied. " _If_ I get better."

"You will," Rodney said, clearly trying to sound more confident than he felt. John appreciated the effort. " _I'm_ working on it, remember. I'll check out the Ancient database, and see what pops up. We know the Ancients visited that world, and I can't imagine that _none_ of them were affected in the same way as you were. Maybe they found a way to counteract it."

"I thought the natives were the ones who did this to me?" John asked. "You really think they've been there, doing this, for ten thousand years?"

"Stranger things have happened," Rodney shrugged. John wasn't so sure about that, but wasn't really in the mood to argue with him. "Anyway, we've got nothing else to go on. Of course, Carson is running his own tests, but since his profession _barely_ even counts as science, I think I'll continue to look for other solutions…"

"Thanks, Rodney," John said quietly, appreciating the rant for what it was; concern for him. Rodney, despite how annoying he could be at times, was a really good friend.

"Rest, John," Teyla told him kindly. "We will be back soon."

"Thanks, guys," John replied. As much as he loved hanging out with his team, his head was pounding, he felt a little dizzy, and his dead mother was still staring at him from behind Rodney's shoulder. He'd been trying to keep the worst of his condition from his team, but it was becoming more and more of a struggle, and the truth was, he would be glad of the break.

With one final nod in his direction, his friends left, and the infirmary was silent once again. John knew that the nurses would soon be in to check on him, so he decided to make the most of the time alone. He needed to regroup.

* * *

The silence of the room, once his friends had left, was deafening. Lorne and his team had all been released to their own quarters earlier on in the afternoon, and there was no one else around. Usually there would be medical personnel in and out of the infirmary at all hours of the day and night, but John knew that Carson had limited their shifts so that John's condition wasn't exposed to more people than was absolutely necessary. Carson knew how private he was about things like this, and he respected it. It was a kindness that John would always be eternally grateful for, but right now he kind of wished there was somebody around.

The ringing in his ears was still there, but more concerning to John was the growing headache spiking behind his eyes. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed a distraction. And since he'd basically just ushered his friends away like the stubborn idiot he always was when he got sick, there was only one option he could see...

"So…er, how've you been, mom?" John asked awkwardly, well aware that he was probably communicating with a hallucination conjured up from his own battered mind.

" _Better than you, it seems,"_ she replied with a sad smile. Even with the constant ringing in his ears, John could hear her voice as clear as day. It was a little disconcerting, but worst of all, it was making it more a hell of a lot more difficult to remember that she wasn't real...

"I'm fine," he argued, suddenly thinking that maybe this wasn't such a good decision after all. His mind was thumping and his vision was blurring slightly. Something was happening again...

" _John, you couldn't lie to me when you were ten years old, what makes you think you can lie to me now?"_ his mother joked. Of course, that only served to frustrate him. In that one moment, his tenuous control over his emotions snapped.

"Well, for one thing, I've changed," John shot back, a little angry at the hallucination for assuming so much. It was irrational, and probably meant that he was even crazier than he'd first thought, but he was tired, fed-up and in pain, and he'd just about had enough.

 _"John..."_

"You died when I was a kid," John told the image of his mother. "You're dead. You're not real, and I'm damn sure not going to treat you as if you are."

Well aware that he was the one who had started talking to her in the first place, and that he was very much acting like the child he'd been when she'd died, John snapped his eyes closed and turned his head. It was akin to holding his hands over his ears and humming loudly, but he couldn't help it. The pain in his head was growing sharply, and he'd definitely had enough of it.

"Please," he whispered, his eyes still firmly closed. "Go away."

" _Hiding from your problems has never solved anything, John,"_ his mother told him sadly. " _I thought I taught you better than that."_

She sounded so disappointed in him. John had always hated disappointing his mother as a kid, and he almost opened his eyes to apologise before he remembered that this was a hallucination.

"Go away," he repeated.

His mother sighed. _"If that's what you really want…"_

"It is," John replied, trying to sound confident.

" _Okay, but just remember, John,"_ his mother told him. _"This won't solve anything…"_

Her voice trailed off, and then mercifully, there was only silence.

John waited a full five minutes before he even dared to open his eyes, and even then he still glanced around nervously, half-expecting her to return any minute. Or worse, any of the other ghosts…

"Colonel?"

John jumped, then felt his cheeks flush red when he realised that it was only a nurse coming to check on him. He really needed to get a grip…

"Are you feeling okay, Colonel?" the nurse asked, a little taken aback by his reaction to her arrival.

"I'm fine," he replied, trying to square his shoulders slightly, which admittedly wasn't an easy task considering he was half-lying and half-sitting on a hospital bed.

"Are you sure you're okay?" the nurse asked. She didn't seem convinced. "You look a little pale. Maybe you should..." Then suddenly she stopped talking and her eyes widened. John felt his own heartrate increase as the nurse pointed to his face. "Colonel, your nose is bleeding again!"

"Oh," John said, lifting a hand to his nose. It came away bloody. "Right."

Then, almost like a chain reaction, John's headache started spiking behind his eyes, and he began to lose all sense of self. He felt the world tilting, and it was all he could do to stay upright. He closed his eyes again, but this time it gave him little relief.

He could hear the nurse shouting for help, but it was as if the sound was coming at him from underwater. Everything felt out of whack. His body didn't feel like it even belonged to him anymore, and his mind…he'd lost control of that completely. The voices were back, all of them apart from his mother, but they were all talking at once, begging him to listen to them. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. He was trapped in a nightmare of his own making…

Distantly he heard shouting coming from his right-hand side, but he couldn't seem to focus on what was being said. It was too much. Even though he had his eyes firmly closed, he could feel the crowd of ghosts surrounding him, and he knew he wouldn't be able to escape. Even worse, in the back of his mind, John knew he deserved this. After all, most of the dead who were haunting him now were there because of him...

Before he could dwell on that dark thought any further though, John felt a blissful wave of drugs rush through him. He clung desperately to the feeling, immediately letting the drugs flow through his body, right from the top of his head down to the ends of his fingers and toes. The relief was almost as overwhelming as the pain had been, and John knew that he wouldn't be able to stay conscious much longer.

He didn't fight it though; he didn't _want_ to fight it.

When the dark, all-encompassing oblivion finally took him completely, John was glad.

* * *

 **A/N -** So, what did you think? One thing I've been worried about when writing this story is the pacing of it. I'm not expecting it to be an especially long story (5-6 chapters at most), but I don't want to rush through it in order to get to the end. I feel this chapter was okay, but I'm also worried it hasn't really moved the story on much. Maybe you'll think differently, but I'd certainly value your input either way. I've already started work on the next chapter, but I've got a busy few days and weeks ahead of me. I'll try my best to get it posted as quickly as possible, but please try to be patient. I'll get there, I promise. Until then, please let me know what you think so far, and most of all, thanks for reading!


	3. Part Three

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hello again! Thank you for all your kind words after the last chapter. I'm sorry this one has taken a bit longer to reach you all, but I've had a busy week. Anyway, there's a little bit more going on in this one, so hopefully you'll all think it's at least been worth the wait. Enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Death Stare ~**

 **Part Three**

* * *

When John next woke up, he was alone again.

His head felt strangely numb – a huge contrast to the blinding pain he'd felt just before he'd passed out – and his thoughts were definitely a little fuzzy, but his mind was clear enough for him to know that he was still in the Infirmary. John took a deep breath, keeping his eyes closed as he tried to assess his situation, but apart from the reassuring beep of the machine measuring his thankfully steady heart-rate, he couldn't hear anything else at all.

Which was…weird.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as his vision adjusted to the relatively bright room.

After he'd argued with the ghost of his mother and told her to go away – and wouldn't he just need years of therapy to get over _that?_ – he'd been expecting another ghost to replace her. But, as he looked around the empty room, devoid of anyone – living or dead - John was relieved to see that that wasn't the case. He was alone. Completely alone.

But as he lay there, with the silence of the room becoming more oppressive with each passing second, John couldn't help but feel a little uneasy. He closed his eyes again and tried to calm his thumping heart, but it was no use. His brain felt out of whack, and he was finding it difficult to control his emotions. There was a ringing in his ears and a little voice in the back of his mind telling him that something was wrong. John couldn't help but listen to it.

Where the hell was everyone…?

Over the course of his time in Atlantis, John had spent more than his fair share of time in the Infirmary, and not once had he ever been left completely alone. Usually his friends would spent the days with him, in shifts if necessary, and at nights there was always a nurse on duty, working quietly in a corner of the room, and clearly under strict instructions from Carson to keep a close eye on him.

But this time there was no one – not one living soul – which was more than a little concerning. Something was definitely off…

" _John?"_

Almost involuntarily, John shook his head, clenching his eyes even more tightly shut as he groaned slightly. No, no, no…

" _John, can you hear me? Come on, baby, open your eyes…"_

"Oh, god," John moaned, trying to drown out that voice. His arm felt like lead, but he lifted it anyway and ran his hand over his face. What the hell was wrong with him? Why wouldn't they - s _he_ leave him alone…?

" _John?"_

"What?" he snapped, finally opening his eyes again. His mother was back, her hazel eyes staring at his with concern. His heart clenched, but he shoved the emotion away. She wasn't real, she wasn't real…

"You're not real," he told the hallucination. His heart was thumping loudly in his chest, but he couldn't focus on anything but her. The pain was coming back, spiking sharply behind his eyes, and it was all he could do to keep them open. This was his worst nightmare; the people he'd failed most, haunting him in the real world…

" _Does it matter if I'm real or not?"_ his mother asked simply, smiling patiently down at him. _"I'm here, either way."_

"Of course it matters," John muttered, pulling himself together again. "If you're a hallucination, it just means I'm going mad, or under the influence of some weird alien drug. If you're real, then…"

John trailed off, unwilling – even with all the weird things he had seen since joining the Atlantis expedition – to accept that he was currently conversing with the ghost of his dead mother; a ghost that only he could see.

"You're not real," he repeated, and a part of him hoped that the more he said it, the more he would believe his words. The trouble was, she looked real. She felt real…

" _How are you feeling, John?"_ she asked, and he could almost imagine her lifting her hand to his forehead to check his temperature, just as she'd done when was a child. He'd missed that…

"Not good," he admitted gruffly. His throat felt like sandpaper, and he wondered how long he'd been out this time. He tried to shift on the bed, but his body ached too, and the numbness in his head was starting to lift more rapidly as the pain spiked once again. "Head hurts."

" _I'm sorry, John,"_ she replied sadly.

"Is it your fault?" John asked, completely serious. He'd been under the impression that whatever was causing the hallucinations was also causing the blinding headaches and dizziness, but what if it was something else? What if it was the hallucinations themselves that were causing his symptoms…?

" _I really am sorry, John,"_ she repeated simply, and in that moment, he knew. There was definitely a lot more going on here than just some weird alien drug or ancient artefact…

"Where is everyone?" he asked her hoarsely, unwilling to admit, even to himself, just how scared he was by his previous train of thought.

She just stared back at him, and he almost laughed.

"Right," he said, rolling his eyes at his own stupidity. "You're not real. How are you supposed to give me any intel on where my people are when you're just a figment of my messed up imagination?"

Instead of relying though, his mother closed her eyes and frowned. John wanted to interrupt, but something deep in the dark recesses of his mind warned him not to. John had learned to listen to his instincts a long time ago, and he was still alive because of it. That had to count for something…

" _They're in the conference room, discussing your situation,"_ she replied finally, her eyes remaining closed. John's heart thudded loudly in his chest. _"They're worried about you."_

"Right," John replied, unconvinced. Even so, he still asked, "And the medical staff?"

" _Someone should be here,"_ she replied, opening her eyes. She looked worried, which immediately set John's nerves on edge. _"I don't know why they're not."_

"That settles it, then," John said, mostly to himself. "Something's wrong. There's no way in hell I'm going to sit here and wait for it."

He was well aware that he was displaying text-book avoidance issues, but in that moment, he didn't care.

" _You're sick, John,"_ his mother replied, tears building in her eyes. " _You need to rest."_

"I need to get out of here," John shot back, lifting his upper body up until he was seated, rather than lying down. Deciding that the sooner he got up the better, John didn't give himself any time to rest before he swung his legs over the side of the bed and began to stand.

He swayed dangerously as soon as he put any weight on his feet, but he persevered. His legs felt like lead, and he could feel the dizziness building behind his eyes, but he was determined to stay upright. He was not going to pass out, he was not going to pass out…

He grabbed the side of the bed, but could feel his legs failing him. He hated feeling weak, but the pain was starting to build again, and he didn't know how long he would be able to last before he passed out again. He shook his head, desperate to keep himself awake.

" _You're okay, John,"_ his mother soothed, and John couldn't help but feel comfort in the words. _"You're going to be fine."_

He saw her lift her hand, trying to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. It didn't move. He felt nothing.

"You're not real," he told the hallucination again. He kept his head down as he began shuffling towards the door, intent on nothing else but getting to his friends. "You're not real…"

* * *

"So, Rodney, have you found anything yet?"

They were sat around the conference table. Elizabeth held back a sigh as she looked at each of them, exhaustion clear on each of their faces. Lorne and Ronan looked restless, Teyla looked upset, Carson looked anxious, and Rodney had that bug-eyed look he always got when he had spent too much time staring at a computer screen. She dreaded to think what she herself looked like.

They'd been working on Sheppard's problem from the moment Sheppard had returned to Atlantis, but they hadn't got any closer to an answer. And to make matters worse, everyone present knew that for Sheppard, time was quickly running out…

"The short answer?" Rodney began with a shrug that looked anything but casual. "No, not really."

Elizabeth tried not to let her face fall. "And the long answer?"

"At the moment, it's like searching for a needle in a pile of other needles." Rodney explained, frustration leaking into his words. "The Ancient database is extensive to say the least, and without knowing a little bit more about what I'm looking for, it's impossible to narrow down the search. There's just too much there. But the problem is that I can't find out more about what I'm looking for until I find something in the database, so as you can imagine, it's a bit of a Catch 22 situation – "

"Rodney, calm down," Elizabeth said, recognising that Rodney was only concerned about his friend. "Just tell us how we can help."

"Let a team go back to the planet to interrogate the natives," Rodney suggested, not for the first time. "We need to know what they used on Sheppard, and if we can, we need to get whatever it was back here so that I can work out how to reverse it."

"I'm not risking another team until we have no other option," Elizabeth replied wearily. "John would tell you the same thing, Rodney."

"John can't tell me anything," Rodney snapped, though Elizabeth knew her frustration was no aimed at her, but at himself. "He's unconscious. Again."

"How's he doing, Carson?" Elizabeth asked Dr Beckett, using the opportunity to move the meeting along. She knew John was in a bad way, and that their time to fix whatever was ailing him was slowly running out…

Beckett sighed. "Not good, I'm afraid. As you know, a couple of hours ago the Colonel suffered another terrible nose bleed. We've got it under control again, thank God, but I'm concerned that whatever is happening to him is soon going to be…irreversible."

Elizabeth felt lead hit her stomach. "What do you mean?"

"It's putting incredible pressure on his brain," Carson explained. "If it keeps continuing the way it has been doing – spreading at the rate it's been spreading - it's going to cause…permanent brain damage. At the very least, the Colonel is at real risk of seizures if we don't get this under control soon."

"Isn't there anything you can do to prevent that?" Teyla asked.

"I'm afraid not, lass," Carson replied with a heavy sigh. "The brain is a tricky thing, and as Rodney has already suggested, until I know what's causing it, I don't have a hope in hell's chance of treating it."

"And the…people John has been seeing?" Elizabeth asked. "The hallucinations. Are they being caused by this brain pressure?"

"Could be," Carson replied. "Or the brain pressure could be as a result of what he's been seeing. At the moment, there's no way to be certain. All I know for sure is that when the Colonel wakes up, he's going to have a hell of a headache, and he'll likely be extremely disorientated. He certainly won't be thinking clearly. We need to do something to help him, and fast."

"I'm working on it," muttered Rodney, tapping away at his laptop.

"What can we do in the meantime?" Elizabeth asked, out of desperation more than anything else.

This time it was Teyla who answered. "We must be there for him. This will not be easy for the Colonel."

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked, getting the feeling that Teyla wasn't just talking about the physical difficulties that the Colonel was facing.

"John is a strong man, but he does not like to talk about how he is feeling," Teyla told them. "Nor does he like to discuss his past."

Rodney scoffed. "That's an understatement! Before he started hallucinating her ghost, I didn't even know the man _had_ a mother – "

"Really?" Ronan deadpanned, a glint of amusement breaking through the concern in his eyes.

"Oh har har," Rodney responded sarcastically. "What I meant was that he's never talked about any of his family."

Elizabeth nodded, running a hand through her hair. "I must admit, I was under the impression he didn't have any."

"Maybe he doesn't," Teyla noted. "Not anymore, at least. But that is precisely my point. The Colonel would not like us speculating about any of this. He is an extremely private man, one who does not reveal much without provocation. We must be respectful of his wishes, whilst also supporting him through this. We need to make sure that he knows that we are there for him…"

"What we _need_ is to go back to the planet," Ronan said firmly.

"We know the risks," Lorne argued, determination all over his face as he held Elizabeth's gaze. "The Colonel…you know he'd do the same for any one of us."

This time, with no small amount of reluctance, Elizabeth finally relented. She didn't like it, but she could see they didn't have any other options. She could only hope that that John would forgive her if something did go wrong with the mission…

"I'll take a team myself," Lorne volunteered, correctly reading her reluctant acceptance of the mission before she even had the chance to say a word.

"I'm going too," Ronan replied. Lorne immediately nodded his approval.

"As am I," Teyla replied. They all looked towards Rodney.

He shook his head. "Don't look at me. I'm needed here. If the mission is a bust, you're all going to look to me for a miracle, and I can't just pull one out of thin air. Anyway, it's not like you need me there. All you need to do is go knock a few heads together and bring back whatever they used to mess with Sheppard's head. Piece of cake."

"Speaking of cake," Teyla began. "I believe they are serving more chocolate cake in the mess hall. Do you think it would be okay if I took the Colonel a piece?"

"Aye, lass," Beckett nodded with a soft smile. "He shouldn't wake for another good couple of hours, but I reckon that would be fine for him to eat something solid when he finally returns to the land of the living. Might do him some good."

"Okay, well, it looks like we've got a plan of action," Elizabeth said as she stood up. "Major, I want you to get together a team of your best marines, then I want you all back here for a briefing. I'm not taking any chances with this mission, so I want to go over everything before you leave. Be back here for 1500 hours."

"Yes, ma'am," Lorne replied with a salute.

Elizabeth nodded in response. She knew that Sheppard's people were the best of the best, and that they would do anything for the man. They had never failed before, no matter how difficult a situation they had faced, and Elizabeth could only hope that their sheer determination – something bred in each of them by Colonel Sheppard himself - would be enough this time.

She gestured towards the door, and was just about to dismiss them when the door swung open and the Colonel burst into the room, chest heaving as he stumbled towards them.

For a moment, no one moved, stunned by his sudden arrival. The fact that he looked like he was going to pass out any minute did little to quell Elizabeth's growing concern.

"You really are here," John muttered, his eyes widening as he ran a hand through his wild hair. Elizabeth hated to admit it, but the whole effect made him seem even crazier. "She said you'd be here." He turned to his side, talking to someone none of them could see. "How the hell did you know?"

Her heart ached with worry as he listened to his hallucination. Elizabeth wondered if he was still seeing his mother. If he was, she couldn't even imagine how difficult that must be for John…

"John," Teyla called softly. "John, you should not be here. You should be resting."

"She said that too," he replied, gesturing to the empty space beside him as he turned back face them. "But I can't. Something's wrong."

"What's wrong?" Rodney asked, looking anxious. Elizabeth knew how McKay felt; Colonel Sheppard had a track record of knowing when something was off way before anyone else. When he told them something was wrong, they had all long ago learned to listen, but could they really trust John instincts now, when it was likely that an alien influence was clouding his judgement...?

"I don't know," John replied, shrugging jerkily. "I can't…think straight. But something is."

"Colonel," Carson began, his eyes full of concern. He moved closer to John. "How's your head feeling, son?"

"Hurts," John muttered, briefly closing his eyes. "It's her. Them. They're doing this."

"Who?" asked Ronan.

"The ghosts," John replied, opening his pain-filled eyes. "I don't know how, but they're killing me. Like I killed them."

"John…" Elizabeth began, but he wasn't hearing her. His attention was back on the space beside him. On his ghost…

"Yes, I know I didn't kill _you,"_ John told the hallucination. He held up his hands, almost as if surrendering. "Just please…stop talking. It hurts…"

He groaned, swaying forward slightly as the pain in his head seemed to spike. Carson moved to grab him, but John shrugged him off.

"Don't…m'okay," he muttered. He swayed again, but stayed upright.

"Sir…" Lorne began. John shook his head, almost as if he was trying to shake away his weakness.

"Lorne," John interrupted, sounding a little more lucid as he held the gaze of his second in command. He was talking slowly, and obviously with great effort, but his words were clear. "I need you to check things out, okay? Something's off."

"Okay, Sir," Lorne replied immediately. "But in the meantime, you need to rest, okay? Leave everything else to me. I'll look after the city. I'll hand her back to you in one piece when you're feeling better, I promise."

"I don't think I'm going to get better, Major," John replied quietly. He turned to Carson. "Doc…"

"Yes, Colonel?" Carson asked, moving closer to him again.

"Did you leave someone in the infirmary with me?" John asked. "To keep an eye on me?"

Carson frowned, brow furrowed. "As a matter of fact I did." His frown deepened. "Why didn't they stop you leaving?"

"Because they weren't there," John replied shakily. He glanced anxiously over to the empty space beside him. "No one was there. Something's wrong."

The look he gave them was almost that of a lost little boy, and the contrast between that and the usually strong and intimidating Air Force Colonel was so stark that Elizabeth felt her heart constrict in fear. John was right; something was definitely wrong, but she had a feeling that it was more to do with what was going on in John's head than anything else…

"John," Elizabeth said, careful to keep her voice soft. "We'll look into it, but please, go back to the Infirmary. You're sick."

"I know," John replied desolately. He rolled his eyes, but the action seemed forced, stilted. Nothing like the calm and confident soldier he usually was. "I'm hallucinating my dead mother. Of course I'm sick."

"What about the others you saw?" Rodney asked, almost out of a morbid curiosity. "Are they still making random appearances?"

"No," John replied. "Not sure why, but it's just her now. Not sure if that's a good thing or not."

"Rodney…" Teyla warned, shooting him a look that told him he was once again prying into things that were none of his business. "Perhaps the Colonel should rest now. We can discuss this later."

"Yes," Carson agreed, moving to take John's arm. He must have seen, just as Elizabeth had, that John was close to collapsing again. Carson held him steady. "Come on Colonel. I'm not taking no for an answer. There's a bed in the infirmary with your name on it."

John didn't move, turning to face his second in command instead. "Lorne…"

"I'll look into it, Sir, I promise," Lorne told him seriously. "I'll make sure the city's safe. You trained your people well, Colonel. Trust us."

"Okay," John nodded, and then finally, he allowed Carson to lead him out of the room. As they left, Elizabeth could hear Carson chattering on at the Colonel, telling him how stupid he'd been to leave the Infirmary. Elizabeth couldn't help but smile; she knew, as well as the Colonel did, that it was just Carson's way of showing he cared.

Turning back to Sheppard's team however, Elizabeth felt the smile drop from her face as quickly as it had come. The weight of his condition was hanging over all of them. This wasn't over, she knew. The Colonel was in trouble, and they were no closer to getting him out of it.

As soon as Sheppard and Carson were out of earshot, Lorne turned to face them.

"I...I can't go on the mission," Lorne told them, the decision clearly weighing heaving on him. "Not now. He…I promised him I'd look after the city. I'm not breaking that promise."

"We understand," Teyla replied calmly.

"But _we're_ still going, right?" Ronan asked, standing up. Clearly he was itching to get going.

"Not on your own," Elizabeth replied.

Ronan shook his head. "We'll be quicker without – "

"You're not going alone," Elizabeth repeated sternly. "John would never forgive me if anything happened to you two out there. Especially if you're there on his account. You're taking a team of marines, no arguments, or you won't be going at all."

"That will be fine, Dr Weir," Teyla said calmly, shooting Ronan a look.

"Yeah, fine," Ronan replied tightly. "Can we go now?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Meet back here for the briefing at 1500. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right."

"Fine," Ronan replied. He left without another word, and with a final nod towards Elizabeth, Rodney and Lorne, Teyla followed him out.

"I'm going to get some search teams prepped," Lorne announced as he too prepared to leave. "We'll begin at the Infirmary and work our way outwards. If the Colonel thinks something's wrong, I'm not going to ignore that."

"Okay, Major," Elizabeth nodded in approval. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."

"Will do, Ma'am," he said with a final salute before he too left.

Once they were alone in the room, Elizabeth turned to Dr McKay. The man was already packing up his laptop, ready to leave himself.

"Rodney…"

"I'll be in my lab," Rodney interrupted, head down. His movements were jerky, a little panicked, and Elizabeth knew he was feeling the strain of John's condition as much as she was. He was almost out the door as well when she decided she had to say something.

"He'll be okay," she blurted out, just as he was leaving. Rodney stopped in the doorway, then slowly turned to face her.

"No, he won't," Rodney replied, despair crossing his face. "He'll say he is, just like he always does, but he won't be okay. He probably won't be okay even if we pull off a miracle and fix this."

"He's strong, Rodney," she told him, even as doubt clouded her mind.

"Strong enough for this?" Rodney asked rhetorically.

As she watched him finally leave too, Elizabeth didn't answer. The problem was, she wasn't so sure Rodney was wrong. John was strong, yes, but there was a limit on what he could take, and he also was quickly running out of time.

She stared at the empty room and tried to keep the despair from completely overwhelming her. The truth was, they all were.

* * *

 **A/N -** So, how was it? I realise I'm putting John through the ringer a little bit, but I'm a sucker for whump and angst. Judging by a lot of the other stories on this website though, I'm not alone in that, so hopefully you're all enjoying this story as well. I hope that the plot is still interesting enough for you, and that the characters are all still relatively in-character. One thing I've really been concerned about is making sure that the character's 'sound' right. I'm British, born and bred in the north of England, but I've tried to make sure that all the characters (apart from Carson of course) sound as American/Canadian as possible. Hopefully I've done okay so far, but if not, please let me know, because I'd hate to get it wrong! Otherwise, and until next time, thanks for reading!


	4. Part Four

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hello again! Here's another chapter, just in time to combat your Monday blues. I've had a few days off work recently, and I've been using that time to catch up on my writing, so hopefully I should have this story wrapped up soon. There's not long to go now (only a couple of chapters at the most), but there's still plenty of time to make our favourite Colonel suffer (insert evil laugh here). I'd apologise for it if I didn't know for a fact that most of you enjoy it as much as I do. So, without further ado - enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Death Stare ~**

 **Part Four**

* * *

Despite the severe misgivings she still had about the mission, Elizabeth was careful to keep her face impassive as she watched Teyla, Ronan and the small team of marines leave quickly and efficiently through the Stargate, knowing that she had to remain every inch the Commander she had trained herself to be if they were going to get through this relatively unscathed. Doubt - however much she felt it deep down - had no place in her command; not with John's life at stake.

Under the mask, however, she couldn't prevent an undeniable feeling of unease from settling deep within her stomach. She knew, just as they all did, that they'd been left with no choice but to send someone back to the planet, but she still couldn't shake the feeling that they were taking a huge risk; one that John would never ask them to take.

Except, Elizabeth thought desolately, John was in no frame of mind to make that determination at the moment.

Elizabeth sighed and turned away from the now quiet Stargate, determined not to allow her hope to extinguish completely. John was a strong man, she reminded herself, a fighter to the end, and if he wasn't giving up – which she had been assured by Carson that he wasn't – then neither was she.

The risk would pay off, she told herself firmly, willing herself to believe it. Ronan and Teyla, she knew, would do anything for John, even more so than anyone else. She had never seen anyone so loyal to their leader. They – and Rodney, in his own way – would go to the ends of the galaxy if it meant saving John, although Elizabeth sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Of course, Elizabeth couldn't help the traitorous thought that maybe it was already too late. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't quite forget the fear she'd seen on John's face – something she had never seen before, and hoped to never see again. He'd been so un-John-like when he'd first burst into the meeting, coming across more like a crazed lunatic than the seasoned and respectable commander he was. It worried her, perhaps more than anything else, that this whole thing was…changing him.

But, she told herself with dawning realisation, as hard as it was for all of them to see their friend suffering, she knew the situation would be ten times as hard for John himself. To see his dead mother, no matter what the circumstances, would be difficult. To be forced to see her after having already been confronted with the images of _everyone_ he had ever seen die was…well, Elizabeth couldn't even imagine it.

Suddenly she wanted to see her second in command.

But she hesitated. As much as she wanted to just shoot off, duty - as it always would - came first…

She paused, and then, decision made, reached up to tap at her comm.

"Lorne?" she began.

" _Yes, ma'am?"_ he responded after a moment. He sounded tired, she thought, and once again she was reminded of the fact that it had only been a few hours since Lorne had been in the Infirmary himself. In that moment, she decided that when this was all over, they'd all more than earned some leave.

"How goes the search?" she asked.

True to his word, Lorne had taken a huge contingent of the soldiers with the sole quest of searching the city from top to bottom. What they were looking for, no one knew – not even Lorne himself – but look, they did.

" _Nothing yet, ma'am,"_ Lorne replied. Elizabeth had expected as much; she knew Lorne would have updated her immediately had they found something untoward, but she'd had to ask.

"Good," Elizabeth replied. "Keep at it, and let me know the minute you find something."

Lorne replied in the affirmative, and said a quick goodbye. Almost as soon as he'd signed off, Elizabeth's thoughts immediately returned to John. Concerned swelled in her chest as she thought back to his manic appearance in the conference room. He'd seemed so certain that something was off, but so far they'd found nothing to support his claims. Not even a whiff of something out of the ordinary.

The first thing they'd done was check the Infirmary. Carson had confirmed John's assertion that there should have been a member of the medical staff with him at all times, not only to monitor him, but also to make sure that he remained undisturbed by friend and foe alike. It had concerned them all that the medical staff member on duty that night – a young female nurse by the name of Barrow – had apparently gone AWOL…

Until she had been discovered in the adjacent bathroom, puking her guts up.

It turned out that she'd picked up the bug that Major Lorne's team had brought back from their recent mission. She had spent more time treating them than any of the others, and due to an unfortunate crush on Major Lorne's right hand man Jenkins, she had been less than diligent in her care of them. Had Jenkins not returned her interest, she might have kept her distance and been okay, but he had, and in the end, a brief kiss had been more than enough to pass the illness on to her…

Mortified, and scared of how her superior, Dr Beckett, would react when he found out about her illness – and indeed how she had contracted it – Barrow had attempted to hide it, self-medicating and bribing her fellow medical staff to leave her alone in the Infirmary for the afternoon. She'd lasted around half an hour into the shift before the illness had taken a firm grip on her guts, and in desperation, she'd fled to the bathroom.

She had still been in there when John had woken half an hour later.

Elizabeth sighed and ran a hand through her hair. It was a mess, but undeniably one of their own making. She had a feeling that Atlantis was as safe as she had ever been from outside threats; that it was John himself who was the one in trouble…

Elizabeth shook herself forcefully and made up her mind. Teyla, Ronan and their team were on the planet doing what they could to find the machine that had started all this trouble. Rodney was locked away in his lab, working his way tirelessly through the Ancient database in order to beat them to the solution. Beckett was poring over medical textbook after medical textbook, trying to find a way to combat the symptoms John was experiencing, and Lorne was currently combing the city for a threat he probably didn't even believe was there, just because John had asked him to.

And she…well, she was stood on the observation deck doing absolutely nothing.

Truthfully, of course, she knew that in reality there was nothing she could do. Her skills as a diplomat, the only thing she could really offer that the others could not, were no use in this situation. Talking to the natives of PX752-224 would only waste time – time that John didn't have.

Almost like a pendulum, Elizabeth's thoughts swung back to the Colonel, and in that moment, her mind was mind up. There _was_ something she could do. She would do as Teyla had suggested.

She would make sure that John knew, without a doubt, that he was not alone.

* * *

He was fast asleep when she arrived at the Infirmary, but undeterred, Elizabeth took a seat by his bed and pulled out a book she had been meaning to read for a while. She'd spoken briefly to Carson, and he'd informed her that the Colonel's little jaunt earlier had taken a lot out of him. They didn't expect him to wake up for another eight hours at least. Elizabeth sighed, but settled into the uncomfortable chair as best she could. She was willing to wait...

Of course, John being John, he didn't make her wait long.

"Elizabeth?" he croaked only a couple of hours later, his eye peeking open. She immediately turned the bedside lamp down, and put her book down. "That you?"

"Yes, John," she replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," he replied, waking up a little more. He tried to pull himself up in bed, but only managed to get about halfway before he collapsed.

"Well, I'm guessing Carson has already given you the 'you should have stayed in bed' speech, so I'll avoid that," she replied, hoping to lighten the mood. She saw the ghost of a smile cross his face, but nothing more.

"Where is everyone?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"Hard at work," she replied. "They're doing everything they can to fix this. Well get to the bottom of it, John."

He shook his head, though didn't argue. "And Lorne?"

"He searching the city as we speak," Elizabeth replied. "He hasn't found anything yet, but he's under orders to let me know as soon as he does."

"Good," John replied softly.

She followed his gaze as his eyes slid over to the space by the right of his bed. He seemed to tense up almost immediately, and Elizabeth had a feeling she knew what he was seeing...

"Hi, mom," he said softly, confirming Elizabeth's suspicions. He sighed, clearly resigned to her presence more than anything else, and Elizabeth felt sadness well up in her. She wanted to break the silence, but she had no idea what to say. She wasn't sure there was anything she _could_ say that would make him feel any better, and that frustrated her because she'd never had trouble with words before…

"So…" she began uncomfortably. She looked between John and the empty space beside his bed, but still found the words stuck in her throat.

"Why are you here?" John asked, almost as if he'd sensed her struggle.

"Just looking out for a friend," Elizabeth replied, trying to smile.

"Oh," John replied, clearly taken aback by her honesty. He'd probably been expecting her to come up with some sort of excuse to check up on him, but Elizabeth found that she simply didn't have the energy for a ruse.

"Would you like me to leave?" she asked.

"No," John replied. "You can… uh, stay. It's just…I'm exactly not at my best right now."

"You're not Superman, John," she told him quietly. "You don't have to be strong all the time."

"I know," he sighed. "But I am the military commander. I can't afford to look weak."

Elizabeth sighed to herself, but didn't argue. "If it helps," she began, "Most of the city is under strict orders not to enter the infirmary unless it's an emergency. There may be one of two who want to see what all the fuss is about, but I think for the most part, people will respect your privacy."

"Oh, erm, thanks," he replied. She felt some of the tension ease from his frame, and she was glad.

He turned away from her then, again glancing to his right, and it took her a few seconds before she realised that John was listening to his hallucination once more. His mother was saying something to him…

"I know, mom," he said in reply, a soft smile on his face. "They're good friends. The best."

Then he turned back to Elizabeth, a little red-faced, almost as if he had only just remembered she was there. Carson had mentioned that John would be disorientated, but it was still disconcerting to see in action. It certainly did nothing to lessen her worry...

"Sorry," he replied softly. He definitely looked a little embarrassed. "I…I can't help but talk to her, even though I know she isn't real. It's…been a while since I've seen her."

The admission, quiet and yet heart-breaking, tore at her. This wasn't fair. He didn't deserve this…

"You've never mentioned your mother before," Elizabeth said quietly. "When did she die?"

John stilled, and Elizabeth immediately felt bad for even asking the question. She herself would have hated to have anyone nosing into her past, and John was even more private than she was.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" she took a deep breath. "You don't have to tell me. I just…"

"I was eleven," John interrupted quietly, his eyes downcast. "She, uh….she had cancer. She fought it but she…didn't make it."

He seemed to be purposely avoiding looking at his mother as he spoke. It made her sad, even though she wasn't entirely sure why…

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth repeated. She meant it. "I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay," John shrugged. The movement was jerky, uncertain. "Happened a long time ago. But…I erm…I don't like to talk about it much."

Almost as if his gaze was pulled there, he looked over to the space on his right hand side again. Elizabeth wondered if the woman conjured up by John's mind was smiling or crying…

"What was she like?" Elizabeth asked before she could stop herself.

"She's…beautiful," John replied, his eyes softening. "I'd forgotten that. I get my looks from my dad."

John's frown turned into something bitter at the mention of his father, but Elizabeth sensed that it was not something John was willing to discuss so she decided to change to subject.

"What did your mom do?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

"She was a teacher," John replied quietly. "Although that was way before I was born. She stopped when she married my dad. He was rich; didn't want her to work. She loved him, so she did what he asked. Not sure it made her happy though. I think she liked teaching more than she liked being at home all day."

Elizabeth wanted to say something comforting, but she had no idea what. Fortunately, it seemed that John's hallucination of his mother was doing enough talking for the both of them. His attention was fixed off to the side once more.

"It's true," John told the hallucination after a few moments. "I saw you arguing with dad one night. I was seven, not stupid. You wanted to go back to teach, and he wouldn't let you." John's face hardened. "I know how difficult he can be; how….controlling."

"John…" Elizabeth began, unsure if he even knew she was still here. His eyes were fixed on the space by his right hand side, focused on the ghost only he could see.

"He got worse after you died," John continued. He was speaking more quickly, and his breathing was starting to sound erratic, shaky. "He…it was alright for Dave. He was the youngest, and he'd never had a problem with dad's rules anyway. He _wanted_ to be like dad."

He paused, clearly listening to his mother respond. After a few minutes, his frustration seemed to grow.

"Of course, I didn't want to be like him!" John replied angrily. "He was an asshole. Still is. All I ever wanted to do was to fly!"

"John," Elizabeth began desperate, grabbing onto his arm. "Calm down."

Finally he dragged his gaze away from the mirage of his mother and looked at her. Elizabeth was taken aback by the wide eyes, tinged with red. He squinted at her, almost as if he wasn't sure what he was seeing anymore…

"Elizabeth?" he croaked. He frowned, and in that moment she knew he'd become more than a little disorientated. It was as if he didn't even know which reality he was supposed to be a part of anymore.

"John," Elizabeth began, but the words seemed to still in her throat once again. What could she say? He seemed so erratic, unpredictable…

"Do I really look that bad?" he asked somewhat wryly, running a hand over his face. He tried for a grin, but even that came off a little off…

Elizabeth sighed, and decided to go for honesty. "Let me put it this way, you don't look good, John."

"Don't feel good either," he told her, closing his eyes briefly. "Head really hurts. Think it's getting worse…"

Almost as soon as he finished speaking, John groaned, closing his eyes tightly and clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white. Elizabeth could feel the ways of pain coming off him, but she was helpless to do anything. In truth, she'd never felt more powerless…

"Oh, god…" John moaned, holding his head in his hands.

Then he jerked, his eyes snapping open as his gaze shot over to his left hand side. He looked past Elizabeth, fear crossing his vision.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered, eyes fixed on something. With trepidation, she turned, but she was greeted by nothing but an empty corner. There was nothing there…

"No," she replied uncertainly, her voice as quiet as his was, even though she didn't understand why he was whispering in the first place.

"There's someone there…" he trailed off, his eyes jerking back to the right hand side, where she knew he'd been seeing his mother. He seemed to listen to her, and Elizabeth waited with baited breath.

"No…" he said suddenly, head jerking back to the other side. "It can't be. They went away…"

"John," Elizabeth said, her heartrate increasing. "What is it?"

"Something's wrong," John replied, swallowing hard. "My mom…she says she can't stop them anymore."

"Can't stop who, John?" Elizabeth pressed. Whilst she waited for his reply, she tried to catch the eye of one of the medical staff at the other end of the room. Thankfully, the nurse saw her concern, looked towards John, and nodded. Then, just as she had hoped, the nurse left immediately for Carson's office…

"The other ghosts," John continued, oblivious to her silent request for help. "She's been holding them back, but it's getting too much for her. She won't be able to stop them coming. Oh, god…"

"John," Elizabeth called desperately. She grabbed his hand and held on tight. "Look at me."

He shook his head and closed his eyes instead, almost as if he was scared of keeping them open.

"John, look at me," Elizabeth repeated. She tried to keep her voice free of the tremors that she knew were trying to break free. She had to remain calm. "John, please, look at me."

Finally, he did, but she almost wished he hadn't. He was scared, and clearly in pain…

"We'll fix this," she told him, heart thudding wildly in her chest. She knew it was a stupid thing to promise, but she couldn't help but want to wipe that fear from his face. "We'll save you."

"You can't," John whispered. "They're already here."

He pulled his hand from hers and pushed himself back against the headboard of his bed, clearly panicking and looking every inch as if he was about to flee. John's eyes were wide and wild, and his breathing was so uneven that Elizabeth was sure he was hyperventilating. And yet she did nothing. She was frozen, fixed in place, unable to move; unable to bring him even an ounce of comfort.

"Fight this, John," she implored finally, her voice shaky.

But it was like he couldn't hear her; like she was no longer a part of his world...

"No…" John moaned, shaking his head. His hands gripped the sheets of his bed, almost as if he was afraid of being dragged away.

"John!" Elizabeth repeated, her shout resonating through the Infirmary. "John, fight them!"

"They're ghosts," John gasped, his eyes darting wilding around the room. "How the hell can I fight ghosts? They're dead. They're all already dead. They're coming for me, and I can't stop them. I can't…"

And then to her horror, his eyes slid shut, and his body, already covered in a sheen of sweat, became ridged, almost as if his whole body was frozen in time.

Then he began to convulse.

"John…" Elizabeth begged. "Please, look at me. Come on, Colonel, wake up!"

Machines began to beep, voices began to surround her, shouting orders she couldn't understand, but she only had eyes for John. Oh god….

"He's seizing!" shouted Carson, immediately moving to grab John's shaking body. Finally, Elizabeth dragged her eyes away from her second in command, meeting Carson's concerned gaze with only fear in her heart. "Elizabeth, love, you need to stand back. We need space to work."

Elizabeth stumbled backwards, eyes wide as she watched the medical staff flurry around her second in command. Tears welled in her eyes but she was determined not to allow them to fall. He needed her to be strong, even more so because he couldn't be strong for himself right now...

Suddenly an alarm blared around her, jerking her out of her desolate thoughts. She fixed her attention back on John, half expecting it to be the signal of a further downturn in his condition, but when she saw that he was still, that Carson had stabilised him, Elizabeth realised it was something else. The gate, she thought to herself. Someone had dialled the gate.

Ahead of schedule.

Her stomach dropped like lead. There was only one team out at the moment, and if they were back already, it couldn't be good news. Something was wrong.

"Go," Beckett told her, understanding clear in his tired but kind eyes. "We'll look after the Colonel. Go."

So she did.

* * *

In record time, Elizabeth made it back to the observation platform in time to see the shield drop.

"Teyla's IDC, ma'am," the gate technician told her without her having to ask. She nodded gratefully and turned her attention back to the gate.

They didn't make her wait long, although this time, there was no panic when they returned. Just quiet desolation…

She quickly made her way down the stairs to greet them, but she already knew that the mission had gone terribly wrong. They weren't injured, she could see that much, but judging by the way each member of the team held themselves – shoulders hunched forward slightly, heads bowed – the mission certainly hadn't been a success…

"It's not good news, is it?" she began quietly, breaking the oppressive silence as she stared at each of their faces in turn.

Ronan just shook his head, grunted and immediately stalked off. Elizabeth knew that he'd be looking for something that would burn off his frustration – she could only hope that he used one of the training dummies and not one of her staff.

"We found the device," Teyla told her. "Once we told the people of PX752-224 what we were willing to do to get hold of it, they let us pass without trouble."

Elizabeth knew there was probably more to that story, but she also knew that now was not the time to hear it.

Instead, she frowned. "Well, that's good, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid not," Teyla said with a bow of her head. "The device…it is unlike anything I have ever seen."

"Well, where is it?" Elizabeth asked, looking around at each of the marines in turn. They had been instructed to bring the device back at all costs…

"We could not bring it back with us," Teyla replied with a sad shake of her head, confirming what Elizabeth had already feared…

"But, why…?"

"Because it is not merely a hand-held device, Dr Weir," Teyla explained. "It is an entire chamber, hidden within the mountain itself. Even with a hundred men, we could not hope to move it. If John is to be well again, if we are to reverse what has been done to him, I'm afraid he must return to the room himself."

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked, even though truthfully, Teyla couldn't have been clearer. The problem was, Elizabeth just didn't want to believe what she was saying.

"When they separated us, the natives placed John in a room they call the 'Seeing Chamber'," Teyla explained. "They believe that once a select chosen few– of which John is apparently one - enter the chamber, they are gifted with the ability to converse with the dead."

Well, that explained a lot, but not nearly enough…

"Chosen few?" Elizabeth replied. "By that, can we assume they mean those with a natural Ancient gene?"

"Most likely," Teyla replied with a small nod. "Regardless, it matters little. What _is_ important is that the 'gift' is rumoured to disappear once the person returns to the room a second time. Rodney would have to investigate how or why this is the case, but I do not think it will be necessary. The natives did not appear to be lying."

"So, John has to go back to the chamber in order to get better?" Elizabeth sighed.

"Yes," Teyla replied. "I believe he must."

Elizabeth nodded, but inside her heart clenched in concern. She wished she could be as certain as the Athosian.

Elizabeth knew that Teyla wouldn't be suggesting it she thought there was any other option. The trouble was, Elizabeth couldn't help but think back to the man she'd just left in the Infirmary, still desperately fighting ghosts only he could see.

In the end, the question on her mind wasn't whether or not taking him back to the planet was the right thing to do, but whether John would even survive the journey.

* * *

 **A/N -** Dun dun dunnn! Poor John. Hopefully you're enjoying this story a bit more than he is at the moment? I'm loving the responses I've been getting for this story, so please keep your reviews coming! Every time I get one it makes my day, and honestly, I really think your comments are helping to make the story better. Hopefully it won't be too long until the next instalment, but until then, thanks for reading!


	5. Part Five

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Hello, one and all - another chapter has arrived! We really are nearing the end of this tale now, and this chapter is a pivotal one. I had fun writing it, and I hope you have just as much fun reading it – enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Death Stare ~**

 **Part Five**

* * *

Rodney watched silently as Beckett's medical staff readied the stretcher that would be taking Sheppard through the gate. He shook his head, but for once refrained from speaking up; his concerns had already been noted more than once, and he knew it wasn't the time or place to raise them now. In fact, concern about this plan was probably the _last_ thing Sheppard needed…

Rodney glanced around until his gaze finally found the man in question. John was sitting in a wheelchair off to one side, looking for all the world as if he would collapse if he even tried to stand up. The usually calm and cool Colonel was as pale as a sheet as well, and kept glancing widely around himself, jerking every now and then as if he was being struck by an invisible foe.

Rodney knew he was still seeing…well, the _ghosts_ , for want of a better word, and he honestly couldn't imagine how terrifying that must be. Rodney knew that if it had been him in that situation, he would have cracked long before now. Honestly, it was a testament to John's utter strength that he was still conscious at all; not that Rodney would ever admit as much to the man.

Beckett had tried to sedate the Colonel for the journey but the stubborn fly-boy had refused. So far no one had overruled his wishes, but Rodney knew that the doc had every intention of doing it anyway the minute Sheppard got any worse. Rodney was all for that; John, despite all their bickering, was the best friend Rodney had ever had, and he didn't like to see him looking so weak, so _hurt._ It was Koyla, all over again, only this time Rodney was right there with John and _still_ couldn't do a damn thing to help him.

And so because he was so helpless, Rodney did the only thing he could do to make it as easy as possible on John. He didn't complain, or moan, or grumble…

Even though, he thought to himself as he turned away, it was a really stupid plan.

Rodney shook his head again and focused back on his data pad, determined to do what little he could to make sure the mission actually succeeded. He had a feeling that once they went through the gate, he wouldn't have much opportunity to look at all the data, so he was desperate to make the most of it now.

The storm that had threatened to develop during their first trip to the planet had well and truly arrived now, and it was going to make their journey…tricky. They would be relatively safe for a day or so before it got too treacherous, but they couldn't take a jumper because the systems would be affected by the weather. Instead, they were going to have to make the trip to the mountain by foot. Which would be okay usually – not ideal, obviously, but okay – but at the moment, Sheppard was in no condition to walk two steps, let alone two kilometres.

Meaning that they would have to carry him…

Ronan had immediately volunteered, and would be joined by three other burly marines. They would change over in shifts, although Rodney already knew that Ronan would refuse to switch; the big Satedan would rather die than let someone else carry his commander…

"Right, people," Lorne called, gathering the small force they were taking with them. He turned to glance at Weir, who was watching from the platform. She'd taken the briefing, but since she wasn't coming on the mission, she seemed happy to let Lorne take the lead now. "Let's get going."

Lorne stood in front of his men – and Teyla, Ronan and Rodney – and tried to get their attention. They'd had the briefing now, but it had been quick; rushed. This would not be like a normal mission.

"Remember, there may be hostiles," Lorne continued, his tone commanding, even though he was unable to completely hide his exhaustion. "If you see any, do not hesitate. Otherwise, we go hard and fast for the mountain. Dr Beckett, you ready?"

Everyone turned to see the Colonel being assisted onto the stretcher, supervised mother-hen-like by Carson. Sheppard was moving slowly, lethargically, almost as if his body was being weighed down, and Carson was using all his own strength – and the strength of a couple of his staff - to actually manage the transfer.

Almost as if he knew that there was a sudden attention fixed on him, John froze. Then he began to mumble, his movements becoming even more erratic. His gaze jerked from left to right, and he seemed to Rodney to be even more out of it, struggling against the people who were trying to help him as if they were attacking him.

"No," John mumbled, pushing them away. "Leave me…alone…"

Rodney started to move towards him almost instinctively, but Teyla got there first.

"John," said Teyla, immediately moving to his side. She kept her voice calm, and held out her hand. The Colonel paused, but his eyes looked wild. "You must calm down. You must trust us."

Carson looked up to Lorne and then shifted his gaze to Rodney, eyes wide in concern. "He's getting worse. We need to go now."

"John," Teyla repeated. "Listen to me. You must calm down. Let us help you."

"I…can't...," the Colonel ground out in a brief moment of lucidity. His words were quiet, almost a whisper, but the room was silent so they travelled to everyone.

"You must," Teyla repeated, holding out her hand. He took it, almost as if it was a lifeline. "They cannot hurt you, John. They cannot."

Rodney held his breath, almost waiting for the worst, but he let it out when John nodded and finally stopped struggling. The Colonel stiffly allowed the staff to help him onto the stretcher, but he held on to Teyla's hand, and his gaze kept jumping around the room, fixing on visions that none of them could see. Rodney knew that John would hate the show of weakness but Teyla didn't seem to mind, and he knew that none of the people present would think any less of him for it.

When the Colonel was finally settled on the stretcher, finally turned back to Lorne and nodded. His expression was grave yet determined, and Rodney marvelled internally at how much the doctor had changed in the last few years. Carson still hated to go off-world – and probably always would - but he was doing it without a second thought for Colonel John Sheppard.

Then again, Rodney thought, so was he. Maybe Carson wasn't the only one who had changed…

"You have a go, Major," came the call through their earpieces. It was Elizabeth. Clearly she had seen the whole incident because her concern for John was clear. "Bring him back in one piece."

"Yes, ma'am," Lorne replied with one final salute. Then he turned, gestured to his troops, and then stepped through the gate, the rest going through just behind him.

With barely a glance behind him, Rodney followed.

* * *

The wind and rain hit him hard as soon as he came out of the other side. It nearly took his breath away, and the force of it drenched him in seconds. Rodney gasped, desperate to pull air in. He couldn't hear anything over the thunder of the water hitting the ground, and he could barely see a thing. Even though it was supposed to be day time, the dark clouds had blackened the sky, making visibility almost zero.

Thankfully, shaking himself slightly as the shock of the weather began to wear off, they had been prepared for that much at least.

He turned on his heavy-duty torch and span it around. It barely made a dent in the darkness of his surroundings, but he could at least see that the rest of the team had already begun congregating at the bottom of the steps from the gate. Shaking his head slightly, Rodney immediately went to them. Now they just needed to wait for Sheppard to arrive, and then they could set off.

It didn't take long.

The three nameless marines and Ronan didn't seem to be struggling with the weight of the Colonel, but they were being hampered slightly by Carson, who seemed determined to care for his patient even when he himself was being pummelled by rainwater and the patient in question was being moved down some stairs.

From the moment they'd arrived, each and every one of the team been soaked to the skin, and it looked like they were going to stay wet for some time to come. Rodney glanced down at Sheppard and once again pushed away his own frustration. The Colonel was being kept relatively dry by the isolation tent they had fitted over the stretcher, but it was a stop-gap at best. And worse, he was looking more sick by the minute. They were running out of time…

When the stretcher finally arrived at the rest of the group, the men carrying Sheppard stopped but made no move to put the stretcher down. They were ready to go and so was Rodney, but the trouble was, he couldn't hear or see what Lorne was saying. Their earpieces were crackling, and Rodney knew that the storm was affecting those as well. That, unfortunately, was something they hadn't prepared for. Which called for some quick thinking…

Rodney quickly shrugged off his backpack and began routing around until he found what he was looking for.

A flare.

He lit it, and even with the heavy rain, it stayed lit. It provided quite a bit more light than the torches, and Rodney felt, rather than saw, the soldiers' attention turn to him.

"It's this way!" He shouted, struggling to be heard over the loud, heavy rain that was pelting down on them. He glanced down as his compass, and pointed his flare east. Rodney himself hadn't actually been to the mountain himself, but Ronan's tracking abilities had provided them with a pretty good idea as to the lay of the land, so Rodney knew exactly which way they needed to go.

"Let's go, come on," Rodney shouted, trying to instil some sense of urgency into the marines that had joined them on the mission. The soldiers had been scanning the immediate vicinity, clearly trying to assess whether the natives who had caused so much trouble on their first trip would be any threat to them now, but Rodney knew better. Only an idiot would be outside in this weather…

He rolled his eyes, even though no one would see, and began to move off in the direction he knew the mountain to be in. Thankfully, Sheppard had trained the soldiers well, and they followed his lead without question. Eventually, Lorne caught up to him and took point. Rodney knew that Lorne had also already been briefed by Ronan on which direction to go in, so he relinquished the lead without a fight.

Soon after, and quite by accident, he found himself trudging along next to Sheppard's stretcher.

"Rodney," Beckett said, greeting him with a nod, his voice barely carrying over the wind and rain. Teyla was still walking beside the stretcher as well, her hand still gripped to John's.

"How's he doing?" Rodney asked, nodding down at John.

"Getting worse," Carson replied. "I'm not sure he can distinguish between us and them now."

"We're not dead," Rodney pointed out, glancing down at Sheppard.

"I know that, Rodney," Carson replied irritably. "But Colonel's Sheppard is becoming more and more delusional the longer this goes on. Before we left Atlantis, I did one final brain scan, and his brain activity was off the charts. When Dr Weir was with him, the Colonel reported that his mother could no longer hold 'them' back."

Rodney swallowed, and tried not to think about what that meant. Ever since childhood, Rodney had hated ignorance with a passion - he'd always had an innate desire to investigate every avenue of thought, to _know_ everything…

But right in that moment, Rodney finally understood why ignorance was bliss.

"Not long after," Carson continued, "The Colonel seized. Effectively, the 'dam' burst, and since then his condition has almost unmanageable. Whatever he's seeing now, it's affecting him so much that it's blending the present reality with the past. It's not his fault."

"I know," Rodney replied. He sighed, and ran a hand through his wet hair. The rain didn't seemed to be easing off. He sighed again, but didn't say anything further. In truth, there wasn't anything he could say that his friends didn't already know.

Instead, Rodney squashed the urge to scream into the sky and trudged on. John would be fine, he told himself forcefully. He had to be…

* * *

The rest of the journey – although by no means pleasant – at least passed without incident. Most importantly, John remained alive for the moment, although Carson had grown increasingly concerned about further seizures.

By the time they finally reached the mountain, Rodney was out of breath and moving almost solely on adrenaline alone. He gasped and tried to pull some much needed oxygen into his lungs as he immediately set to work on getting the entrance to open. The mountain facility had definitely been set up by the Ancients at some point since it appeared to run largely on touch from those with the ancient gene. The front door, however, was apparently a little more complicated than a simple swipe lock, and would therefore take a little bit longer to figure out. Because of course, nothing could ever be straightforward for them...

Stupid idiotic Ancients, Rodney cursed internally as he worked. Always meddling in something they shouldn't and then conveniently dying so that their investigations would lay dormant for some poor traveller or explorer to pick up where they left off. And of course, they hadn't left any instructions to make it any easier on said traveller, the arrogant, reckless…

"Rodney," Teyla prompted, his hand still gripped to the Colonel's. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, sorry," Rodney replied, then with a final flourish that he was fairly certain no one else could see over the continuing downpour, the door finally open. Rodney didn't wait for permission before he went inside, but he was closely followed by Ronan and the three soldiers carrying the stretcher. The facility was cold and dank, but otherwise the décor was identical to every other ancient facility he had ever seen. The lights had come on when they'd entered, and Rodney could see two corridors coming off the small entrance hall they had found themselves in.

Ronan, as Rodney had predicted, had refused to relinquish his place at the stretcher. Now that they had arrived at the mountain, he looked tired, but he had a face like thunder, so no one was ready to argue with him about taking a break and letting someone else take over for a bit. Besides, they still had to get Sheppard to the chamber.

"Which way?" Rodney asked, since he hadn't actually been inside the mountain or seen the chamber in question.

"Move, McKay," Ronan ground out, clearly out of energy to explain it to the scientist. Rodney quickly obliged. Ronan nodded to the dark grey corridor on their right. "It's this way."

The Satedan almost single-handedly pulled the stretcher along the dark, dank corridor, leaving the rest of them with no choice but to follow. Ronan took them at a fast pace, but fortunately it wasn't long before they arrived at a metal door that looked markedly different to every other door they had passed. Rodney knew without asking that they'd arrived at the 'Seeing chamber'.

Ronan and the other men carefully placed the stretcher down on the floor, and Beckett immediately got down on his knees to do one final assessment on his patient.

"Doc?" Lorne asked, his hands fixed on his P-90.

"He's still alive, but…" Carson shook his head as he trailed off.

"But what?" snapped Rodney, his nerves already shot.

"I can't rouse him," the doctor continued gravely. "It may already be too late."

"Only one way to find out," Ronan said gruffly, nudging Carson out of the way and then bending over to take Sheppard by the arms. The Colonel was limp, all but unconscious, but Ronan didn't let that stop him from getting the man off the stretcher and onto his feet.

Without waiting for permission, Ronan then half-carried, half-dragged Sheppard over to the door and waved his hand over the lock to open the door. He frowned when nothing happened. Not to be deterred, he then shifted Sheppard's weight and pulled the man's hand up so that he could wave Sheppard's hand over the lock instead.

Still nothing happened, but Rodney thought he knew why…

"It's a failsafe," Rodney said, realisation hitting him. "It's designed so that only the 'chosen' can enter."

"What are you talking about, McKay," ground out Ronan. "We got in before."

"You don't have the gene, Conan," Rodney explained. "It won't let you enter unless you're at least with someone who does. I'm guessing that when you got in before, the native man you 'commandeered' as a guide probably had the gene and opened the lock for you. Am I wrong?"

"Actually, it was Captain Reynolds," Ronan replied gruffly. "But Sheppard has the gene as well. He's a 'chosen one'. It should work for him."

"Yes," Rodney replied, rolling his eyes. "But Sheppard, in case you haven't noticed, isn't even conscious. The door controls must be sensitive, and we know that some ancient technology has a mental component. The 'chosen one' must have to _want_ to enter."

It was a guess, he knew, but like all of his guesses, it was a fairly educated one.

"I doubt Sheppard wanted to enter the first time," Lorne pointed out.

"Well, they probably coerced him," Rodney replied. "You know, something along the lines of 'enter or die'. Sheppard likely didn't have much of a choice. Anyway," he continued before they could get any further off track. "It doesn't really matter, does it? We don't have time to stand here and argue. _Sheppard_ doesn't have time. I'm right, as always, and since Sheppard isn't coherent enough to open the door, let alone operate the machine, one of us - _with the gene,_ " Rodney added, shooting Ronan a look. "- is going to have to go inside with him."

"How big is the room?" asked Carson. "Could more than one of us fit in there?"

"The chamber is big enough for two," replied Teyla with a shake of her head. "No more."

"I'll go in with him," Rodney offered immediately, almost before the thought had fully crossed his mind.

He knew what to expect, he told himself, trying to justify the decision to risk his life for Sheppard. When they had first discovered the room, Teyla had taken a number of pictures of the inside for Rodney to study, and study them he had. And whilst he still didn't exactly know how the chamber worked yet, he had a better chance than anyone of working it out.

"Actually, I think I should go, Rodney," Carson replied. "I'm his doctor, and I have a feeling the Colonel is going to need some medical support when that machine gets going."

"Carson, don't be an idiot," Rodney replied. "What he needs is for someone to work out how to turn this machine on and get it working in reverse. And since I'm by far the smartest person in this room, Sheppard's best chance of survival at the moment is me."

"Major…" Beckett said, looking to Lorne.

"Look, I've got the gene, too," Rodney argued, glancing over to Sheppard. "The machine the natives scanned us with might not have been able to pick my gene up since it's not as strong as fly-boy's over there, but it should be more than enough to open the door. I can do this."

"I say we give McKay a shot," Ronan said suddenly, surprising Rodney. Without waiting for further instructions, he shifted Sheppard's prone body slightly, and Rodney took the hint. Rodney moved closer and grabbed one of Sheppard's arms, pulling it over his shoulder as he took some of the man's weight. Then, in a final effort to prove that he could do this, he took John's entire weight from Ronan. He wheezed slightly, but managed to keep them both standing. That, at least seemed to convince Lorne.

"Fine," Lorne agreed. "Go for it, McKay. We'll wait here, but at the first sign of trouble, we'll blow the door."

"Let's try to avoid plan B then shall we, since that will probably kill us both," he said in reply, struggling to shift Sheppard slightly so he could free an arm long enough to wave at the lock. It took a few seconds of manoeuvring and no small amount of effort, but he eventually managed it. Thankfully, the technology immediately registered him, and the door opened with a gentle hiss. He loved it when he was right.

"Okay," Rodney said, more for his own benefit than anyone else. "See you on the other side."

It was difficult, but Rodney managed to pull Sheppard, who was pretty much a dead weight, through the threshold and into the small chamber. Almost soon as they made it through the doorway, the door closed, and he and Sheppard were left in silence.

It was disconcerting - at least the light was still on, Rodney told himself as he tried to keep from panicking. The chamber was cramped, and Rodney could already feel the walls closing in. He pushed away his claustrophobia with all the force he could muster and instead focused on the problem in front of him. The controls – which were essentially comprised of dozens of buttons and levers if he remembered correctly - should be on the left hand side of the room. Yes, he confirmed, turning to face them. Good.

Wasting no time, Rodney propped the unconscious Colonel on one side of the wall and then turned to the wall of buttons and levers, his mind already focused completely in front of the problem in front of him. He would have smiled if the situation hadn't been so grave. He'd always loved a challenge…

"Rodney…"

Rodney whirled round in relief. "Sheppard; good you're awake. Which control did you press to get the machine started the first time?"

"What…?" Sheppard blinked hard.

"Come on," Rodney implored. "Concentrate. Which control was it?"

John closed his eyes again. "Don't…remember."

"Of course you don't," Rodney replied irritably, turning his attention back to the wall. "Is there anything you _do_ remember?"

There was a long pause, and then…

"She says you need to press the small red one," John whispered. Rodney frowned, and was about ask his friend what the hell he was talking about when he felt Sheppard stiffen and then slip slightly.

The room was tight enough that Sheppard couldn't actually fall and hurt himself, but that fact didn't offer Rodney much comfort, especially when Sheppard began to shake. Unfortunately, Carson had given him enough lectures to know what that meant. Sheppard was seizing…

"Sheppard," Rodney called, although he knew Sheppard was beyond hearing him. Dammit, why the hell had he come instead of Beckett…?

Clenching his fists as panic threatened to overwhelm him, Rodney jerked his attention back to the wall of controls and tried to focus. The answer had to be here somewhere. It had to be…

And then he saw the small red button. It looked innocuous - nothing like the cliché red buttons he'd seen in movies. Usually, Rodney would have ignored it altogether, but he was fresh out of better ideas, especially with Sheppard's condition deteriorating by the second.

"Okay, Mr Hail-Mary," Rodney said, taking a deep breath. "Red one it is."

Then, without wasting any more time, he pressed it.

For a moment nothing happened. Then, just as he was about to start pressing some of the other buttons in desperation, he heard a whirring noise and the entire chamber began to vibrate. Then before he could even register what was happening, there was a bang that threatened to deafen him, a flash that threatened to blind him, and then a wave of colour so bright that Rodney couldn't even comprehend what he was seeing. All he knew was that it was beautiful...

He reached out a hand to touch it, to _feel_ the colours, but before he could, there was another bang, louder than the first, and Rodney felt the world tilt on its side.

Then he saw nothing but black.

* * *

 **A/N -** So how was it? There were plenty of things happening in this chapter, but not a lot of talking, so I'm a little nervous about it. Hopefully I did a half decent job at least? Please leave me a review and let me know.

I only got one review after the last chapter, which I'll admit was a bit demoralising (even though the review in question was really lovely). I really don't write for the reviews (although I really do appreciate every single one), but it did make me feel a little bit like a comedian who tells a joke and only gets one lone slow clap in response. It's better than booing, obviously, but it's still not great. Anyway, I really don't want to come across as arrogant or attention-seeking, so please be assured that I will continue to post regardless of how many reviews I get. But if you can take a minute or two to let me know your thoughts (good or bad), please know that I would appreciate it.

Anyway, that's enough of that – I'll start writing the next chapter instead, shall I? Until next time, thanks for reading!


	6. Part Six

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis - and all the characters and settings related to the show - do not belong to me, obviously. That credit goes to MGM, Brad Wright and Robert C. Cooper. The plot of this little story, however, does.

 **A/N –** Well, here it is – the final chapter. I realise that this story has only been a short ride, but it felt right to end it here. Maybe one day I'll do a sequel, but for now I hope you like this last offering – enjoy!

* * *

 **~ Death Stare ~**

 **Part Six**

* * *

Hours later, John stirred. Awareness came slowly, and at first, his thoughts were simply a swirling mess of fog and random memories. On some level he knew that he was alive – or at least he _felt_ alive – but his mind was so clouded by the fog that it made any conscious thought beyond that simple fact almost impossible. Something was wrong, he knew that much at least, but he just didn't have the energy to open his eyes and find out what…

How much time passed then, John didn't know, but eventually other things began to filter through the fog. The beating of his heart – a little too fast, but pumping nonetheless. The air that was being pulled into his lungs on instinct alone, keeping his body alive as his mind struggled to catch up. The slightly pulsing pain right behind his eyes, reminding him once again that something was wrong.

His heart began to beat faster as his mind clung to that thought. Something was wrong…

"Are you actually going to wake up properly, or am I going to have to call Beckett?"

John stilled, keeping his eyes closed. He knew that voice, but he couldn't quite place who it belonged to; friend or foe. Fighting for control, John tried desperately to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt too heavy, almost as if they were weighed down by rocks…

"Sheppard…"

John mumbled something in reply, but it was incoherent even to himself. He swallowed, trying to work up enough moisture in his dry throat to form an actual sentence, but it was no use. Like the rest of his body, his vocal chords felt completely out of his control.

"Come on, Sheppard," the voice said again. "Open your eyes."

 _I'm trying to,_ John thought angrily. He tried again, but it was a futile effort. Instead, he focused as much as he could on the little things that had finally began to register as well. The feel of the stiff bed sheets below him, the soft beeping of a nearby machine, the slightly out-of-breath breathing of someone standing a little too close to him…

John tried to calm his rapidly beating heart as he focused in on that last sound. Someone was there, that much was clear, but did they pose a threat? Who the hell was it…?

With an effort that sapped even more of his precious energy, John finally managed to open his eyes a crack, blinking at the brightness of the room. It took a few seconds for his vision to clear, and even longer before his brain actually registered what he was seeing.

"McKay?" John croaked, frowning up at his friend. He squinted slightly as his eyes adjusted to the bright light of the Infirmary.

Rodney rolled his eyes, but even though he was still half out of it, John could see the relief in his face.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," McKay said, although after a few seconds, a look of guilt seemed to cross his face. "Sorry, poor choice of words."

"S'fine," John mumbled, not quite sure what Rodney was referring to. His head was starting to hurt again, and he still felt a little queasy. Part of him wanted to simply slip back into blissful unconsciousness, but a larger part of him wanted – no, _needed_ to know what was going on.

"Anyway, it's about time you woke up," Rodney said, clearly trying to cover up the uncomfortable moment. "I was beginning to worry about brain damage."

"What…happened?" John asked, his mind still a little foggy. He glanced around the room, but there was no one else around. Apparently, he was the only one who had been hurt…

Rodney frowned. "You don't remember?"

John thought about it for a second, but when the memories began to swirl through his mind, making his headache even worse, he almost subconsciously forced them back.

"I remember a bit," he replied quietly after a few moments, trying to hold back his growing nausea and settle his breathing. "Not much."

"Well, I'm not going to be the one to explain it to you," Rodney said, standing up. "I'll go and get Carson – "

"No!" John interrupted, shooting out a hand to grab Rodney's arm.

He felt pathetic, but he couldn't help it; he didn't want his friend to leave. Not until he knew what was going on.

"Please, Rodney…" he continued.

Rodney paused and then sighed deeply. "Fine. But the minute you feel even the slightest bit off, you need to tell me."

"I will," John promised.

"Yeah, right," Rodney replied sarcastically, clearly unconvinced. Still, he stayed, and that was enough for John.

"Help me sit up," John croaked, holding out his hand. Rodney rolled his eyes once again, but he apparently knew better than to argue.

With no small amount of difficulty, and quite a bit of reluctant assistance from McKay, John finally pulled himself up on the bed. He was breathing heavily, and he could see little red spots dancing across his vision, but at least he was upright. And the effort had served to wake him up a bit more, so it was worth the effort in John's opinion.

"You gonna tell me what happened then?" John asked, closing his eyes briefly as he rode a slight wave of dizziness.

"Fine," Rodney sighed. "But you're not going to like it…"

* * *

By the time Rodney had finished his explanation, John had definitely woken up a bit more, but the fog in his mind had been replaced by a dull headache. He ran a hand over his face and sighed deeply.

"Damn," he muttered. Surreptitiously, John took a moment to glance around the room, but he couldn't see anyone else– living or dead. He and Rodney were alone, at least for the moment.

"Yeah," Rodney replied, coughing nervously. Clearly he had noticed John's actions. The scientist frowned. "So all in all, it's really not been the best week for you."

"Yeah, well enough about me for now," John said, more than a little desperate to get the conversation away from him and his ghosts. "What about the chamber that did this to me?"

"What about it?" Rodney asked, eyes moving down to look at his knees. John had known the other man long enough now that he didn't buy the innocent act for one minute.

"Come on, I know you've been studying it, McKay," John said, well aware that the scientist would not have been able to resist having a poke around, even with all the trouble it had already caused.

When Rodney didn't immediately protest at the accusation, John knew he was right, but he couldn't find it in himself to be angry. Instead, to his surprise, he was even a little bit curious.

"So," John began quietly. "What've you found? Who built it and why?"

"The creators were Ancients, obviously," Rodney replied, looking relieved that John wasn't angry with him. "Although I suspect they were part of a secret faction of scientists rather than part of any group we've come across before. I couldn't find any mention of them or the machine in the ancient database on Atlantis."

"So the machine was a secret Ancient experiment?" John asked, frowning. "What were they researching?"

"Death, I think," Rodney replied gravely. "Specifically, what happens to a person _after_ death."

"I thought the Ancients had ascension?" John asked, brow furrowed.

"They did," Rodney replied. "Except I don't think these particular Ancients were all that interested in ascension. I think that their research was centred on finding _alternatives_ to ascension."

"I can't say I find the idea of ascension all that appealing either," John said quietly. Rodney nodded in agreement. John sighed to himself. "So what did this particular group want to do?"

"It's not exactly clear yet," Rodney replied, "But I think I worked out _how_ they planned to do it, at least in the beginning."

"Go on," John prompted.

Rodney nodded. "Well, from what I can gather, the machine they created as part of their research – the one that effectively scrambled your brain - only ever affects the area of the brain that deal with memories, not imagination. I think that's actually by design," Rodney paused, and then after checking that John was still following his explanation, continued. "Essentially, this faction of Ancients…they wanted to do more than simply explore the concept of the afterlife; they actually wanted to speak to those who had travelled beyond. Because what better way to study the afterlife than actually speak to someone who had experienced it?"

"Creepy," John noted.

"Yeah," Rodney agreed. "Anyway, I think they designed the machine to do just that, and it seems that they had some success."

John rolled his eyes, and gestured towards himself. "Ya think?"

"Yes, well, I did say _some_ success," Rodney replied, scowling at John. "I'm not entirely convinced that they ever actually managed to talk to someone who had passed on – just that they just _thought_ they had."

Rodney looked at John earnestly, as if that should explain everything, but John still had a banging headache and a queasy stomach, so he wasn't in the best frame of mind for critical thinking.

John looked at him blankly. "Okay, now you've lost me, McKay. Start at the beginning. Why the hell would they create a machine that only deals with memories when they're trying to talk to dead people?"

"Well," Rodney answered a little impatiently. "Think about it logically. First off, in order to 'talk' to someone that had passed on, the scientists had to find a way to differentiate between visions of dead people, and visions of people they _believed_ to be dead, but who could theoretically still be alive."

John mulled that over for a moment.

"I think I get it," John began thoughtfully. "It's like Elvis."

Rodney paused. "What?"

"Elvis," John continued. "Well, he's dead, right? Except, how do we know that for sure? Plenty of people believe that his death was a conspiracy, and that he's not actually dead at all."

"Please tell me you're not one of those people."

"Of course I'm not," John said with a roll of his eyes. "But you're missing my point. I _believe_ Elvis is dead, but until I've actually seen him die, how can I ever be absolutely one hundred percent certain that he is?"

Rodney didn't seemed convinced, and John knew that he still had lingering concerns about brain damage. In hindsight, the Elvis talk probably wasn't helping…

"You said that the machine is linked to the memory section of the brain, not the area that deals with imagination, and that they designed it to do that on purpose," John began instead. "The machine triggered the images from people the subject had _seen_ die, because that was the only certain way to make sure that the vision was of someone who had passed on – their memory of that moment couldn't be questioned, but a believed or imagined dead person – like Elvis –always could."

"Exactly," Rodney replied, looking faintly surprised that John had understood so quickly. "As to the machine itself, I'm not really sure exactly _how_ it works yet, but essentially it seems to be designed to send a pulse that triggers something in the memory section of the brain in order to bring about the visions of dead people."

"Right."

"And," Rodney continued. "Just in case you get any stupid ideas about what happened to you, when I say 'visions' I actually _mean_ 'visions'. The pulse caused the brain to see things that weren't there. When we went into the chamber the second time, it created another pulse that reversed the effects."

"And the natives?" John asked. "Why did they want me to use it in the first place."

"We didn't exactly have a lot of time to chat with them," Rodney replied with another roll of his eyes. "But we _think_ that they knew the legends about the Ancients' experiments with the afterlife, and wanted to try it out for themselves. Apparently, even though there is some evidence of the ATA in their population, no one seems to have been born with a strong enough gene to activate the machine in a number of generations. When they saw us, naturally they got excited, thinking we were their precious ancestors coming to help them communicate with their dead loved ones. And then of course, your gene just _had_ to be strong enough to meet their needs."

"But I'm okay now?" John asked quietly. He wasn't convinced by Rodney's assessment that the ghosts hadn't really been there, but he was too tired – and scared – to argue about it with him now.

"You tell me," Rodney shot back. "See any dead people?"

"Not at the moment," John replied, head bowed. He purposely didn't look around the room – but then, he didn't need to. Rodney was right; whatever the cause – machine or not – the ghosts had definitely gone. John tried to ignore the stab of pain that shot through him at the realisation that he wouldn't see his mother again. He hadn't even been able to say goodbye…

"You okay?" Rodney asked awkwardly. They had never been the type to discuss their feelings; it was one of the many reasons they got on so well together, but since Rodney _had_ just saved his life, John thought he owed him a little bit of the truth at least.

"Not really," John replied with a sigh.

"Oh," Rodney said, clearly a little taken aback by John's answer. "Right."

"I haven't spoken to my mom since I was a kid," John continued quietly. "Even if it wasn't real, it was nice to see her again, but it was...difficult at the same time, you know?"

"She died when you were a kid?" Rodney asked quietly.

"Yeah," John replied. "The other ghosts…they were tough to see, but seeing her again…that was the hardest."

"Sorry," Rodney said softly.

"Do you still want to know why I could see her?" John asked quietly. "Why I have a memory of her dying?"

Silently, Rodney nodded, though John was unsure whether he was genuinely curious or whether he was being uncharacteristically considerate. After a moment's thought, John decided in the end that Rodney was just being a really good friend.

"I was eleven," John began. "I wasn't a stupid kid, so I knew she was dying, not matter how much they tried to hide it from me and my brother. She had cancer," he explained at Rodney's questioning look.

"Oh, right."

"Anyway," John continued. "I did a lot of research on the type of cancer she had, and I snuck a look at some of the notes the doctor had left for my dad. She was diagnosed as terminal pretty early on. So I knew."

Rodney nodded, but stayed silent, and John appreciated that more than he could ever say. It was easier to keeping talking now that he'd started, and he found, surprisingly so, that he _did_ want to keep talking.

"My dad…" John continued quietly. "He wasn't the easiest person to live with, but he loved my mom. He stayed with her as often as he could, but sometimes he was needed elsewhere. One day, he told us he was going on a business trip, and that we – my brother and I – had to look after mom until we got back. She'd started to get worse."

"But he still left," Rodney noted, brow furrowed.

"Yeah," John replied, unwilling to get into the enigma that was his dad. "Anyway, we weren't completely on our own. We had a nanny, but she wasn't the most observant person in the world, and my mom's carers only came at certain times a day. I was worried about her being alone."

"Understandable."

"So, anyway," continued John. "The day after my dad left on his trip, I skipped school, hitched a ride home, snuck into the house through an open window in the kitchen, and went to sit with my mom until the carers were next due to visit. I stayed with her, and she…er…she died that afternoon."

"Oh," Rodney replied. Clearly he didn't know what to say…

John shrugged slightly. "I…er…didn't handle it well. I'm not sure I really understood what had happened. One minute we were talking and laughing, and the next minute, she was…gone."

"That's tough," Rodney said sympathetically.

"Yeah," John agreed, sighing deeply as he scrubbed his hands over his face. "Anyway, I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"It's the machine," Rodney smirked, clearly trying to cover the awkwardly emotional moment with humour. "It messed with your head."

"Really?" John asked apprehensively, eyes widening slightly in concern.

Rodney laughed. "You're fine, you idiot. No more crazy than usual - according to Carson anyway, although I'm not sure I'd trust anything that quack says..."

"Yeah, that's really reassuring, McKay," came a sarcastic voice from the doorway. John smiled as he saw the rest of his team in the doorway.

Ronan sauntered into the room, Teyla following calmly behind him.

"Good to see you awake, Sheppard," Ronan said as he joined them. "Been quiet around here without you."

"Quiet is good," John replied softly, smiling at his friend. In truth, he meant that in more ways than one. Apart from his friends, he couldn't hear anything else; no spooky ghostly voices, no taunting messages from beyond the grave…

Quiet was definitely good.

"Are you sure I'm okay now?" John asked apprehensively, turning his attention back to Rodney.

"Dr Beckett has assured us that you will feel no ill effects from the chamber," Teyla replied patiently. "You will be fine."

"Look, why don't we prove it," Rodney said, moving away from John's bed. John watched him leave to go and get something. He had a feeling he knew what it was…

"Chess?" he guessed.

"Obviously," Rodney replied as he placed the chessboard on the table beside John's bed. "It's been a while since I've beaten you. I'm going to enjoy this."

"Yeah, beating a man who's currently recovering from having his brain fried by an Ancient experiment," John shot back. "Definitely something to be proud of, McKay."

"Hey, I was in the chamber too," Rodney defended. "My brain was just as fried as yours."

"I thought Doctor Beckett had determined that you were fine, Rodney?" Teyla asked, smiling knowingly. "Something about you having a thick skull...?"

"Yeah, well what does he know?" muttered Rodney irritably.

"About medicine and the human body?" John replied. "Quite a bit since he's _real_ doctor, and not just a PHD like some people..."

"Oh, just shut up and play," Rodney muttered, moving the first piece and nudging the board towards John.

John smirked at him, but didn't say anything further. The truth was, he didn't need to. His friends were here, by his side as always, and they weren't treating him any differently despite his recent near-breakdown. His head still hurt, and he knew it would take a while for him to get over what he'd seen in the last few days, but his team - by their presence alone -had made it clear that they were going to be with him all the way. He knew they wouldn't press him to talk about any of it until he was ready, and if he was never ready - which was always a possibility - he knew they'd never bring it up again if he didn't want them to.

They were really good friends, he thought to himself with a smile as he moved his first piece, and started to focus on the game as he friends talked about everything and nothing in particular in the background.

The next hour passed quickly, and even Rodney actually did win the first game in the end, John found that he didn't mind in the slightest. Eventually Elizabeth and Carson joined them too, and somewhere amongst the laughing and chess and talking in the hours that followed, John realised that even though the dead would always haunt him in some form or another, the living – these living, breathing people who called themselves his friends – would always be around to help him chase the ghosts away.

* * *

 **~ The End ~**

* * *

 **A/N –** So that's it – the end of my little tale. I hope you like how I've left it. I'd appreciate any parting thoughts you have, good or bad (although preferably good). I've loved the reactions I've had to this story, so thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, or followed it over the last few weeks. And for the last time (for this story at least) thank you for reading!


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